Meaningless
by Uchiha Mira
Summary: Vegeta leaves Chikyuu after Goku dies of the heart virus. However, this means that Vegeta isn't killed with the other Z-senshi when the jinzouningen attack...
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: *shuffles through files of witty, original disclaimers* Ah, I'm not in the mood. I do not own DB/Z/GT. There.  
  
A/N: IMPORTANT NOTE : My computer has decided to be stubborn, and the italics aren't working. A lot of Vegeta's dialogue is just him thinking, so in order to show this, his thoughts will appear like ~this~ until I can figure out how to fix this annoying problem. Also, there is one section which is a dream. This was supposed to be in italics as well, so just bear with me on that one. Phew...not that that's over...This is my first attempt at a DBZ fic that will actually require CHAPTERS!! *gasps from the audience* Yes, yes I know, amazing, huh? So please!! Read and tell me what you think! O, one more thing - this is NOT a yaoi. Just to clear up any questions you may have. Vegeta loves BULMA. But at any rate, on to the fic! *runs away at several cries of 'get of the stage', 'shut up!', etc.*  
  
Meaningless  
  
The morning was beautiful - ironically, cruelly, beautiful. The azure sky was free of clouds, save a few scattered white wisps, and the sun shone down gloriously on the lush, green hills below. Reflected sunlight sparkled in clear streams splashing over smooth stones, casting dancing beams of light on the banks and plants alongside the water. Flowers opened bright petals to the daylight, and animals basked in the luxury of the sun's warmth. It was as if the day was mocking the small, grim group of friends and family huddled below.  
  
Vegeta sat on the edge of a boulder apart from everyone else, arms crossed in his usual stubborn manner. He glared at the glittering stream before him; it too seemed to sneer at the misfortune at hand. Yet everything was eerily quiet; the stream was silent, no birds sang in the trees . . . all seemed to be dulled into silence. The only sound was that infernal infant's screaming, but even that was dimmed to a vague irritation pricking the back of Vegeta's mind.  
  
Finally, the ominous silence was broken by quiet sobs emerging from the small house around which the group of people was gathered. That simple sound cut through the air like a knife, bringing with it all that had been feared crashing down upon them with near crushing force.  
  
"He's gone . . . Goku's gone!!"  
  
Vegeta's eyes widened against his will as the words spoken by another confirmed his fears. His scowl faded, changing to a look of denial and disbelief, his stunned expression reflected in the water below. Two strangled words escaped his lips.  
  
"Kak . . .karot . . . No . . . "  
  
The world began to spin, his surroundings blending into one indistinguishable blur. A wave of dizziness swept over him, and he had to clutch the boulder with both hands to keep from falling off it. In that moment, everything he had been striving towards, all that his life had built up to, was erased in an instant.  
  
Kakkarot was dead.  
  
* * *  
  
Vegeta fired blast after blast of scaldingly hot energy at the training droids which encircled him in the confinement of his gravity chamber. The controls were set to 450 times Earth's normal gravity, and Vegeta's breath came in labored, rasping gasps. Sweat poured from every pore, his muscles ached from being overworked, and his limbs were nearly dead with exhaustion. Still, he glared venomously at the droids above him, and his rain of attacks did not cease.  
  
He did not know how long he had been in the chamber, but it must have been several hours. He did not stop to eat or tend to his tortured body, and most importantly, did not rest. Sleep was a dangerous enemy; with it came dreams, and his mind was already swamped with bitter memories.  
  
~How could you die like that, Kakkarot?~ He growled in his thoughts, though his voice contained bewilderment, and even a twinge of . . . fear? That only made him angrier.  
  
~You were a Saiyan! You have survived vicious battles, and surpassed even my incredible strength! How could you let yourself be taken by a mere virus?! HOW, Kakkarot?~  
  
Vegeta cried out as a blast hit him full in the chest. He slammed into the smooth, tiled floor, a jolt of pain running up and down his spine on impact. Cursing his stupidity for letting his mind wander, he attempted to get up, but collapsed back onto the floor. Growling with frustration, he managed to pull himself to the controls and deactivate the gravity enhancor.  
  
"Normal gravity restored." The robotic, female voice was accompanied by a dull buzzing sound as the weight in the air lifted, and Vegeta leaned wearily against the control panel.  
  
"Curse you, Kakkarot!" He burst out suddenly, clenching his fists so hard that blood dribbled down his palms. "I can't even train without you intruding into my head! Why can't you leave me alone!!"  
  
Exhausted, he collapsed on the chamber floor, the smooth metal cold against the bare skin of his chest. Vegeta snarled as his muscles refused to cooperate, and even as he fought it, a black curtain began to descend over his consciousness. Slowly, his senses dimmed and his body succumbed to darkness.  
  
* * *  
  
There was nothing. His surroundings were completely blank, colourless, shapeless; an enormous void that seemed to stretch forever. Vegeta's mind was awake, alive . . . yet the nothingness penetrated even his very being. Vegeta lifted his hand, turning it over and curling and uncurling his fingers in front of his face. He felt the movement, saw the movement, yet it too seemed not to be a part of him. He was part of the nothingness. He couldn't think, couldn't speak . . . all that he could feel was confusion and longing, and an impending sense of lack of meaning.  
  
Then, abruptly, it all changed. The monotonous surroundings shifted in a flash of vibrant colour, and he found himself in a hot, dry landscape, spotted with cliffs and a scattering of brown clumps of desert grass. Vegeta lay on the ground, Royal Saiyan armor torn, his body adorned with various injuries. He tried to move, but agonizing pain shot through every part of his body. He was sharply aware of the new absence of his tail. Further away, another body lay in the dust, though it was not dead.  
  
Kakkarot. The one who had defeated him. With that thought, and urge, a desire, a vow to beat the other Saiyan arose in his being, dominating over anything and everything else. At that moment, Vegeta became more than the nothingness.  
  
Then the scenery changed again. Now he dangled helplessly in the air, suspended by a cool, leathery limb coiled tightly around his neck, choking him while a rain of kicks and punches hammered his body mercilessly.  
  
Frieza.  
  
While the lizard-like tyrant tortured his body, only one coherent thought was able to form in Vegeta's mind; Kakkarot. The only one who could stop Frieza . . . the one who could succeed where Vegeta had failed.  
  
Once again, everything around him blurred and re-arranged. Now he was hurtling through space, searching. Searching for Kakkarot, the one who had defeated Frieza, the one he must in turn defeat to maintain his hold on his honor, his pride. He was the Prince of Saiyans! He would track down that third-class who had somehow defeated and surpassed him, and beat him once and for all. He would prove to all that the Prince of Saiyans was not one to be humiliated. This was his drive, his purpose, the meaning to his life - it was what kept him from fading back into that ominous expanse of nothingness.  
  
Then all of a sudden, everything was ripped from him once again. Kakkarot was writhing in agony, but it was not at Vegeta's hand. Vegeta watched in horror as the only surviving member of his race began to decay before his very eyes. The taut muscles became sunken as the days passed, his skin became waxy and pale. Slowly, ever so slowly, Kakkarot died, but not because of him; a blasted virus had claimed the Saiyan's being.  
  
And then Kakkarot died - with hopelessness and disbelief crashing into his conciousness like waves breaking over jagged rocks, Vegeta felt the meaning , the drive in his life slipping away from him as Kakkarot's spirit left the Earth. As Kakkarot, the being who had kept Vegeta living, kept him driving towards one goal, vanished, Vegeta felt himself cast back into nothingness. Without his motivation, his ambition, his pride. . . he was nothing. Nothing but a listless spirit of a dead race, wandering aimlessly through a sea of blankness.  
  
* * *  
  
Vegeta awoke with a start, breathing heavily. His skin was clammy and wet with cold sweat, which poured from his body and dripped onto the floor. Vegeta shook his head, bringing a wave of dizziness. The dream - nightmare - had seemed incredibly real . . . a low growl escaped his throat. He would NOT allow Kakkarot's death to effect him so. He would find something else to sustain him . . . after all, he had not yet reached the legendary level of Super Saiyan! This would become his new drive. Forget Kakkarot.  
  
Even as he thought this, however, the feeling of meaninglessness crept back into his subconscious, pricking his mind and crawling beneath his skin. What would happen once the Super Saiyan level had been attained? With no- one worthy of battle, he would be right back where he started. Again. Angrily, Vegeta snarled, and despite the protests of his aching muscles, rose and staggered to the gravity room's exit. Snatching a white towel from its hook and draping it over his shoulders, Vegeta left the chamber, expression as dark as the sky had become.  
  
Vegeta glanced briefly at the blackened sky, ornamented with silver stars and dark purple clouds. One eyebrow twitched in surprise; how long had he been training, anyway?  
  
~I must have been unconscious longer than I realized~ Vegeta thought to himself, with more than a little bitterness. ~Blast you Kakkarot! Will you never leave me in peace?~ Vegeta scowled and stormed into the main living quarters of Capsule Corp, flicking on the light in the kitchen  
  
Had he not sensed her presence a second before, Vegeta may have jumped to see the woman sitting in the kitchen when he turned on the lights. It was her appearance that rattled him most. Bulma appeared ragged and worn out. Her pink bathrobe was drawn tightly around her, and she clutched it with one hand as if she was extremely cold, despite the fact that the house's temperature was constantly kept at the highest level of comfort. Her hair, which had been drawn back carelessly into a loose ponytail, was beginning to break free of its constraints to hang in messy turquoise wisps about her face. Most disconcerting of all, her eyes were red and swollen from crying, and large black circles hung beneath them from lack of sleep. She looked up at his when he entered, her gaze exhausted and pleading.  
  
~Kakkarot! Must you continue to torment us so?~  
  
"Go to bed, woman, or at least hide your face. You look terrible. " Vegeta almost regretted the harsh words, but he knew Bulma would understand. He still had a million thoughts to sort out, and common courtesy had never been one of his strengths. He turned his back to her and began raiding the refrigerator.  
  
He felt Bulma's presence get up from her seat at the table, quietly place her mug of coffee in the sink, and come silently up behind him. She placed a hand on his shoulder, cool and oddly soothing against his hot and sweaty skin.  
  
"You should go to bed, too. You look more worn out than I am."  
  
"I have training to do." He moved out from under her hand to begin preparing a pile of sandwiches on the counter.  
  
Bulma sighed, a sound completely exhausted and full of defeat. That surprised Vegeta. Normally Bulma would have either flown off the handle or made some catty remark. To have her sounding so vulnerable was a shock to him.  
  
~Kakkarot, you stupid fool. What are you doing to us?~  
  
Bulma's voice broke into his thoughts.  
  
"You need to sleep. You haven't come out of the gravity room for nearly a week." Vegeta cocked an eyebrow, but did not reply. His mouth was full of sandwich anyway.  
  
~Kami, had it really been that long?~  
  
"Please, Vegeta, come to bed, just for tonight at least. You're going to kill yourself if you keep working like this."  
  
Almost against his will, Vegeta felt himself giving in to her words. He was tired, though he loathed to admit it. And rest would benefit his training. He turned around to face her, though he plastered on a mask of great reluctance.  
  
"Fine, woman. But only for tonight. I'll be back out training first thing in the morning."  
  
He half expected her to protest, and was slightly taken aback when all she did was smile, eyes glimmering with relief.  
  
"Thank you." She moved beside him, placing her arm about his waist to lend him whatever support she could give. Though he protested profusely, he was grateful for the added support; his battered, tired legs were beginning to give out on him. The couple slowly made their way to the stairs, the pile of sandwiches still on the counter, forgotten.  
  
When they reached the bedroom, Vegeta flopped down onto the bed, not even bothering to remove his sneakers. The bliss of finally lying down to rest consumed him, and he found himself slipping into sleep. His reverie did not last long, however, as a few seconds later the overhead light flicked on. Vegeta opened one eye slowly, glaring at the offending fixture. Bulma stood by the light switch, arms folded and face set with her typical no-arguments expression.  
  
"What now, woman?" He growled testily. "I went to bed, see? Now let me sleep." He turned over and slammed a pillow over his head to signify discussion was over. Bulma merely strode across the room to the bed and yanked the pillow out of his fingers. Vegeta glared up at her from half- lidded onyx eyes.  
  
"Woman! I am TRYING to sleep!"  
  
"Not like that you're not." she replied commandingly, forcing him into a sitting position. Vegeta was too tired even to fight. "Look at you! You're a mess! If you think I want you bleeding all over the satin sheets you better have your head examined, buddy." Despite her own exhaustion, she was already bustling around the room, gathering disinfectant items and a first- aid kit.  
  
Vegeta grinned in spite of himself. This was more like the woman he knew; though her voice wavered slightly and her eyes were still red, she somehow managed to remain an imposing figure.  
  
Bulma knelt on the floor in front of him and carefully began cleaning and bandaging his various wounds. Vegeta barely acknowledged the sharp sting of the woman's infernal medicinal devices; he was too intent on studying her expression.  
  
As she worked, countless emotions flickered across Bulma's young face. The most frequent, however, was very clear and easy to identify; sorrow. Vegeta knew perfectly well what she was thinking of, or rather, who she was thinking of. Everyone had been showing the same emotions since the day of Kakkarot's passing. It angered him to see his mate in such pain over an idiotic, third-class warrior such as Kakkarot.  
  
~Why must you plague us so, Kakkarot? GO AWAY!!~  
  
He jumped at a sharp stab of pain in his left arm. He glared at Bulma, who apologized and continued cleaning the cut. The distant expression remained on her face, however, and a few seconds later another jolt of pain shot up his arm.  
  
"Kami, woman! Will you watch what you're doing?!"  
  
"I'm sorry, I wasn't concentrating . . . "  
  
"Well then concentrate! If you're going to insist that I sit through this ridiculous procedure the least you can do is be careful for once!"  
  
Bulma threw down the roll of bandage she had been applying to his arm and slammed the lid of the first-aid kit. She jumped up, fists clenched and body shaking visibly with rage. Sapphire eyes blazed in anger, and though they shimmered with moisture, no tears fell. She glared at Vegeta, and when she spoke her voice shook.  
  
"Can't you have any respect for me right now? One of my oldest friends just died!! Don't you think that entitles me not to have to worry about your trivial needs every single second?? I know you hated Son, Vegeta, but at least try and have some respect for what I'm going through!"  
  
Any other person would have backed away in terror at Bulma's outburst; she could prove extremely intimidating when she chose to. Vegeta however, rose to his feet at well., anger level matched with hers. His face was drawn into a fierce scowl, and he stared down the woman before him eye-to-eye.  
  
"You don't know anything, woman! If you are not going to let me sleep as you originally suggested, I am going back outside to train." He shoved his way past her, heading for the door.  
  
"What for?"  
  
The sharpness in her voice stopped Vegeta in his tracks. "You've always talked about beating Goku, now . . . " there was a slight pause as she choked on the words. "Now he's gone! Can't you forget your training for once? Son is dead!! Try to show some compassion!!"  
  
Vegeta whirled to face her, obsidian eyes flashing with mounting fury. A faint blue aura surrounded his body as his anger rose and his self-control evaporated.  
  
"Shut UP!!"  
  
He had not intended to yell, but his anger was so great the words erupted from his mouth at full volume. Bulma stumbled backwards, eyes widened with shock . . . and fear. Vegeta noticed none of this.  
  
"Don't you think I KNOW what has happened? You think I can shrug off emotions like a machine? I only wish I could! How would you feel if all you had ever worked for, all you ever desired was stolen from you before you had the chance to prove yourself? I have spent my entire life working to be the strongest, straining, toiling, striving to beat Kakkarot as he once did me! It was this goal that kept me living one day to the next, this goal that gave me something to work and live for! How do you think it feels to have everything you have based your life upon stripped from you in mere moments? Do not lecture me on compassion, woman!! You know not of which you speak!"  
  
Bulma's had was over her mouth, her eyes squeezed shut. A single tear leaked out from the corner of her eye and ran down her cheek, dripping off her chin to splash on the porcelain floor. She opened her eyes, the blue of their centres intensified by her tears. Slowly, her expression hardened.  
  
"I'm sorry," she stated, voice calm and level. "But sometimes you can't just think of yourself. We're all suffering too."  
  
An ear-splitting wail pierced the silence between them, and Vegeta resisted the urge to wince at the grating noise.  
  
~All the shouting must have wakened the brat. Marvelous. Just what I need right now, a screaming infant.~  
  
The two of them stood facing each other a moment, Vegeta barely keeping control over a rain of verbal abuse ready on the tip of his tongue, Bulma frighteningly calm and collected. She stared at him a few more seconds before brushing past him and through the door. Before she left, however, she looked over her shoulder to cast a cold gaze on her mate.  
  
"I'm going to tend to our child. I suggest you get some sleep if you're going to insist on training tomorrow . . . however pointless it may be." With that, she turned and strode down the hall and around the corner, but not before Vegeta saw the glimmer of tears on her cheeks.  
  
A mixture of emotions welled up inside him, and he paced the room angrily. He had to get away; away from the pain, the anguish . . . away from that blasted Kakkarot who seemed to be everywhere. He punched one of the bedroom walls in his anger, the plaster and paint crumbling and caving away before his fist. He did not even notice the rivulets of dark crimson blood which now trickled over his clenched fingers, or the torn skin on his knuckles. All he could think was to leave, to get away . . . he had to get away!!  
  
The urge filled every part of him, surging through his body, taking control. He was barely able to think as he snatched up the capsule containing his Saiyan armor and some emergency capsules of food. He did not bother to open a window, but merely blasted through the glass instead, speeding towards the space-ship nestled on the back lawn of Capsule Corp's extensive grounds. Upon reaching it, he barely paused to touch the ground before pounding inside, typing in any coordinates into the computer, too crazed to think. He didn't care where he was going, as long as it was far away; far from this cursed planet, and far from Kakkarot.  
  
* * *  
  
Bulma's head shot up as a blinding flash of light lit up the room, and the roar of a massive engine filled her ears. She let out a strangled cry and leapt to her feet, running to the window. Flinging the curtains aside, she watched helplessly as the space pod became a distant speck of light, then disappeared altogether, taking with it the one man she could find solace in.  
  
Trunks gurgled happily behind her, pulling himself into a standing position by aid of her pant leg and peered out the open window. He clapped his chubby hands in delight and exclaimed in odd gurgles and baby noises at the bright, pretty trail which now streaked the sky; the trail made by the departing Saiyan Prince. Bulma sank onto the window seat, face contorted with a new pain. Trunks cocked his head curiously to one side, patting his mother's knee with plump fingers in an attempt to comfort her.  
  
"Ika ba ba looko mama?" He looked up at her with wide, worried blue eyes that did not yet understand pain and hurt. Bulma raised her head from her hands to look at him, then with a sob swept the baby into her arms and clutched him to her, rocking slowly back and forth. He was now all she had left, all that remained of the man she knew would not be coming back.  
  
  
  
~~*~~  
  
A/N: Well, what do you think? Yeah, sorry about that whole italics deal. I realize that in the anime, Vegeta asked for the gravity room after hearing about the approaching Androids. As this is the other timeline and before the Androids have appeared, I realize this situation wouldn't have come up, but I think he would have asked for the GR anyway for the sole purpose of reaching Super Saiyan and beating Goku. As you can see, I worry a lot about little details =P. O, and by the way, I actually DON'T hate Goku! ^_^ As this chapter was from Vegeta's point of view, however, most thoughts towards Goku would have to be scathing in order to keep our favourite Saiyan prince in character. (Actually, I don't think Vegeta hates him either, he just tries to convince himself that he does because he feels he SHOULD hate him. But that's just me.) At any rate, I hope to have the next chapter up soon...though when I'll have the time to type it up is another mystery altogether. O, I have a question for all of you who have been so wonderful as to read this...what do you think about the chapter length? Was it too long? Too short? Ok as it is? And if anybody has a title idea better than the current one, PLEASE tell me! I'm horrible at making up titles.... But enough of my blabbing! Please! Review the fic! ()):^) ~Mira 


	2. Tears and New Beginnings

Disclaimer: Me?!? Own DBZ?!? Hahahahahahaha. I wish. Though I do have a new battle-damaged Vegeta action figure from If Labs!!! ^_^ Meesa so happy!! O... I don't own Kleenex either. ^_^  
  
A/N: Sorry this chapter took so long to post. Once again, my italics aren't working, so all thoughts will be contained in ~these~ Enjoy!!  
  
Meaningless - chapter 2  
  
Son ChiChi stared out the open window as she absently stirred the pan of rice on the stove. Her charcoal eyes held a glazed look as she gazed into the distance, though not really seeing anything. The horrific images in her mind were still too vivid to be replaced by something as simple as scenery.  
  
ChiChi's features crumpled as the memories of a week prior refused to leave her mind. Goku, collapsing on the floor clutching his chest, eyes abnormally wide with surprise and intense pain. His pale form lying in bed, looking frighteningly frail and vulnerable as he thrashed and screamed in agony, face twisted into a mask of pain. His fits gradually growing fewer and fewer, not because he was recovering, but because his body no longer possessed the strength to fight back against that cursed virus which had claimed the warrior as its own. And finally, the solemn day on which they had buried him, and she was forced to watch the one she loved disappear from her world forever. That image lingered before her shimmering eyes with the most awful clarity. The shovels of dirt which covered his body; his hands, his chest, his face..and all of it so quickly, a nightmare she would never awake from.  
  
ChiChi snapped out of her daze and continued stirring with new vigor, angrily brushing salty wet trails from her cheeks. She was now a single mother; she had a son to raise, and it would not do for him to see her cry.  
  
To her relief, a Capsule Corp jet-copter landed in the yard at that moment in a flurry of whirring propellers and dust, and ChiChi was just able to glimpse a flash of turquoise hair through the vehicle's window. She put down the wooden spoon and went outside to greet her friend, grateful for any distraction to take her mind off her memories. She missed talking to Bulma anyway..they hadn't spoken since the funeral, and hardly any words had emerged between their sobs on that day.  
  
When Bulma came out of the jet, however, ChiChi was taken aback. Her friend was not in her usual glamorous state; instead, she looked as if she had bothered with her appearance for days. She was clad in a faded pair of jeans and a t-shirt, both in need of ironing. Her hair looked as though it had been hastily brushed and was not styled in any way, and she wore no make-up. ChiChi's own troubles were immediately pushed aside temporarily; she had never seen her friend in such disarray.  
  
Bulma strode quickly towards her dark-haired friend, blue eyes already shining with tears, though she stubbornly refused to let them fall. She stopped in front of ChiChi, the concern radiating from the other woman's facial expression giving her a miniscule twinge of comfort. She took a moment to collect herself before speaking; she didn't want her voice to shake.  
  
"Vegeta, he....he left. He won't be coming back." She felt her voice crack on the last few words, and she turned her head away, biting her bottom lip and cursing her inability to hide emotions.  
  
ChiChi wasted no time. She plucked a giggling Trunks from Bulma's thin arms and set the infant on the ground, then enveloped her friend in a tight embrace. Bulma choked back a sob....and then the tears came. All the pent up emotion from the night before came spilling out of her at ChiChi's single act of kindness....though through her sobs she was dimly aware of a slight dampness on her shoulder as well, and a small trembling in the frame that held her.  
  
After a few moments of quiet tears, ChiChi stood back, cheeks glistening. She picked up Trunks, who was busy blowing the fluff off white dandilions, linked her arm through Bulma's, and guided her inside the house.  
  
Once Bulma was sitting down with a strong cup of coffee in her hands and a full box of Kleenex at her disposal, she managed to calm down somewhat. Now she looked more angry than hurt.  
  
ChiChi sat down in a chair opposite Bulma, and though her own face was weary with grief, she focused all her attention on her friend.  
  
Bulma held nothing back. The events of the night before poured out of her, from Vegeta's own pain to her harsh remarks before leaving the bedroom. ChiChi listened throughout the entire tale, wincing at times, but never making a sound that might shatter her friend's confidence and cause her to lapse into silence.  
  
"It's my fault, ChiChi! I know it is! I could see that he was suffering, that he'd been effected by Goku every bit as much as I had been...but all I could do was throw it in his face. I drove him away, and now I'm stuck here raising his child by myself..."  
  
Trunks looked up from attempting to remove his socks to peer curiously up at his mother.  
  
"Ba ba ba." He patted her foot reassuringly, then feeling he had fulfilled his duty, returned to the sock which so stubbornly refused to come off his small foot.  
  
Bulma laughed, though the sound was hollow and sad. She peered into her mug, swishing the remaining coffee around in its base, her eyes void of their usual sparkle. She quickly drained the brown liquid, her hands tightening on the mug and face set in a frown.  
  
"He left just like that....he abandoned me!!" Her expression hardened to a mask of characteristic fury. "How could he do that? Leaving me to care for his child alone, when I've got my company to run...." She gritted her teeth, eyes flashing, though beneath the anger lay a deep pain. "And now he's gone!!" He knuckles turned white as she gripped the mug, then all at once she hurled it at the far wall. The shattering china made a resounding crash, pieces flew in all directions. ChiChi cringed, but did not become angry; she had already broken several objects in similar manner over the past week.  
  
The sound of the breaking glass seemed to snap Bulma out of her crazed state. With a sob she covered her face with her hands, turquoise strands of hair obscuring her face further from view.  
  
"I'm sorry," she moaned, raising a tear-streaked face to look at her friend. "I'll replace it.....it's just...." She sighed, weary and defeated. "Things seem so overwhelming at times."  
  
ChiChi smiled sadly, ebony eyes full of empathy.  
  
"Well, I guess that makes two of us, doesn't it?"  
  
Guilt surged over Bulma's features at that point, and she lowered her eyes in shame.  
  
"I'm so sorry, ChiChi!" she apologized immediately, voice thick and laden with pain and remorse. "I don't know what's wrong with me....Kami knows you've got a heck of a lot more to deal with than I do!!" She sighed again, looking up at ChiChi with pain filled eyes. "Am I always this selfish?"  
  
ChiChi smiled, a sad, though not defeated, look. She moved to sit beside Bulma and the two women leaned against each other wearily, taking minute comfort in the other's presence.  
  
"Yes." She replied simply, but with no harshness to her voice. "But this time it's allowed." She felt a tear run down her cheek and wiped it away with a finger, then turned back to lock eyes with her friend.  
  
"I know this seems hard right now, but I know you. You'll grieve, and you'll move on. If Vegeta didn't care about you enough to stay with you when you needed him most, then he isn't worth crying over for too long. You can't neglect Trunks because of Vegeta's actions."  
  
Bulma's shoulders slumped, and she broke away from ChiChi's gaze. She knew what ChiChi must be dealing with at that very moment, having lost her husband only a week prior. Yet, despite the guilt she felt, she could not help but think that her friend was wrong. In any other context, any other person, and it would have been perfectly true.....  
  
~But she doesn't know how much I loved him.~ Bulma thought bitterly. ~She doesn't know of the bond we shared, and of how safe I felt when I was with him. Can I really forget him as she says? ~ Bulma shook her head, a frown creasing her delicate features. ~Then again, had he really loved me back, he wouldn't have left me. Would he?~ She turned back to ChiChi, whose own face was tormented with memories and pain. Bulma clenched her teeth. She had to stop thinking of herself all the time.  
  
"What about you then?" She asked quietly.  
  
ChiChi tilted her head back, eyes exploring the ceiling. For once, the strong, independent woman looked lost.  
  
"I suppose I'll just go on living as always." She turned back to Bulma, meeting her gaze once more. "I've had to deal with Goku leaving before....I can do it again." ChiChi's voice was sure, yet Bulma saw straight past the facade. She knew what ChiChi said was an outright lie; everyone knew of the undying love ChiChi held for her husband, and how hard she had been hit when he died. Bulma's thoughts were interrupted, however, as ChiChi clasped one of her hands, lending her support through their friendship.  
  
"Look, we've both lost our husbands now....we'll just have to support each other. And we both know that everyone else will be more than willing to help if we ask them to. We're still blessed in many ways. Don't ever forget that." ChiChi finished the last sentence gravely, her black eyes boring into Bulma's blue.  
  
Bulma nodded in agreement, picking up a now bare-footed Trunks to hold him closely in her lap, stroking his hair gently.  
  
"I know. If we can't have our husbands, we still have our sons to care for. And I know that at least Vegeta is still alive, and you can be assured that Goku loved you to the very end." She buried her face in Trunks' sweet smelling hair to hide her tears, not seeing the glistening trails that ran down ChiChi's cheeks as well.  
  
The two women sat in silence, consumed in their grief, yet somehow holding a shred of comfort in each other's company.  
  
* * *  
  
The Capsule Corp pod hurtled through the never-ending depths of space, a moving speck of light against billions of stationary ones. The endless, black expanse was vividly decorated with twinkling stars, and a brilliant, blood-red planet surrounded by pale, softly glowing moons grew ever closer as the pod slowly decreased the distance between them.  
  
"Approaching Planet Velassar."  
  
Vegeta's head snapped up as the robotic, female voice echoed through the gravity chamber. He ran a hand over his sweaty brow, eyes closed in thought. He had been training relentlessly since his departure from Chikyuu, and his body would appreciate a break. Besides, the pod's supply of fuel would not hold out forever, and it would not do to run dry somewhere out in the middle of nowhere. This planet was as good as any.  
  
Vegeta deactivated the gravity simulator, then typed a few commands into the computer. The female voice returned to answer his questions.  
  
"Approximate time to planet, 47 minutes." A few more words typed in, another answer. "Landing sequence set for planet Velassar. Approximately 53 minutes until landing process complete."  
  
Vegeta nodded with satisfaction, leaving the chamber to take a much-needed shower.  
  
~The woman would be having conniptions right now, undoubtedly ordering me to bathe before I stank up her precious house with my sweat. ~ He snorted at the thought, then his expression darkened to a fierce scowl. Why was he thinking of her? What she thought had no relevance in his life anymore. He had chosen to leave. He could not - would not - start thinking of her now.  
  
He stepped into the shower, allowing the hot needles of water ease the tension from his muscles. He closed his eyes, wishing the water could soothe the turbulance within his mind as well.  
  
Fleeing to outer space had not brought the content and satisfaction he had thought it would. In coming here, Vegeta had thought he could escape the memories, break the bonds he had foolishly permitted himself to make on that pitiful planet of weaklings. He could remember the days in which he had been an assassin of Frieza...many hours had been spent alone in his space pod, hours in which he was somehow comforted by the visage of beauty surrounding him. Since then, space had always been his refuge, his sanctuary. There were times when he felt overwhelmed, either from his quest to surpass Kakkarot, or emotional battles usually involving his growing attatchments to the woman and their son. All of these times, he had escaped to the complete seclusion of space. The tranquil beauty of the star-studded heavens was oddly soothing, calming the turmoil of emotions from his mind. He would drift in orbit around Chikyuu for hours, letting the intense beauty and stillness of his surroundings envelop him in a blanket of security. It was the only situation in which he would openly allow himself to be comforted by anything besides his own ambition.  
  
But his journeys to space had always been temporary. Resting periods, so to speak. He always knew he would return eventually; return to the planet he had dubbed as his home, and to his mate. This time he would not be going back.  
  
Now, even the stillness of space could not quell the war of thoughts and emotions raging within him. The remembrance of Kakkarot's death stayed with him, no matter how far he fled. He had hoped that in leaving behind all those connected with that idiot, the memories would be left behind as well. It had been a foolish dream, however...he was reminded of its failure with every passing moment. Space provided no sanctuary this time.  
  
Vegeta snarled and his eyes snapped open. He glared at the streams of water which pricked at his eyes, glared at the tiled walls of the shower cell, glared at everything in sight. He had not been granted a moment's peace since he left Capsule Corp. In fact, now he was even more agitated.  
  
On top of his pain, Vegeta now had another bitter reality to deal with. He was completely disgusted with himself because of the undeniable fact which danced, sneering, through his mind...  
  
He had run away.  
  
All throughout his life, Vegeta had prided himself in the fact that he had never run from a fight, that he had given his all until the very end despite immeasurable odds. To flee from a ridiculous situation such as this...never in his life had he shown such cowardice. The very thought of it produced a low growl in his throat.  
  
"Initiating landing procedures for planet Velassar."  
  
Vegeta shut of the water and stepped onto the cold enamel floor. He quickly towelled himself off and donned a navy blue muscle shirt and grey sweatpants. With a brief flare of his energy, he evaporated the remaining water which clung to his body and hair. He didn't know why he was in such a hurry, only that he wanted off this ship.  
  
"Landing process complete. Destination of planet Velassar now reached. Planet atmosphere found compatible for living standards."  
  
Vegeta left the ship's washroom, leaving his damp towel in a crumpled heap on the tiled floor.  
  
With a mechanical whir and a slight output of steam, the outdoor hatch of the pod slowly lowered to the ground to form a ramp. Vegeta appeared in the doorway a moment later, one hand gripping the doorframe as he surveyed his surroundings critically.  
  
The planet appeared to be of a desert-type ecosystem. The landscape was barren; red, sandy soil stretching as far as his keen eyes could see to the horizon, where the blood red of the earth blurred with the dull pink hue of the sky. Night was beginning to fall over the planet, the sky overhead tainted a thick, dusty yellow with dusk's approach. Numerous large, lavender moons hung ornately above him, so close that their crater-dotted surfaces were clearly visible. Stars glittered faintly in the fading light as night grew nearer. The monotonous landscape seemed to be uninhabited, for there were no visible signs of life and Vegeta could sense no large life forms. He grunted.  
  
"Humph. Good. No-one will bother me or interrupt my training for once." The sound of his own voice was startling; it was the only sound in the enitre plain, save an occasional breath of wind filtering through the coarse sand at his feet. Around him were several small rock escarpments, all of a dull, reddish coloured rock. Vegeta took off towards the nearest one, the flare of his energy causing a cloud of dust to rise up around him in the second before he took to the air.  
  
Vegeta landed atop the cliff, his bare feet making a soft thump on the hard rock. He sat down, crossing his legs and folding his arms tightly across his chest. He snorted inwardly.  
  
~If I'm not careful I'm going to look like that Namekian.~  
  
He snorted again and closed his eyes, hoping dimly that this new planet would bring relief from that ever-present feeling of nothingness gnawing at his soul.  
  
~~*~~  
  
Well, chapter two is finally done and posted. Sorry it was somewhat of a short one, and there wasn't much action. I promise some MAJOR events will happen in the next chapter.....this is when the REAL plot-line will come into play!! *cackles evilly* This is so fun!! Anyway, hope everybody has an awesome Christmas!!! Now go earn another present from Santa by making my day by reviewing!! Hahahahaha........ ~Mira  
  
~*~STORY ADVERTISING~*~ My all-time favourite story right now: "Splintered Souls" by Vandeleir (or Van-sama as I like to call him, I'm in such awe of his writing skills). This is an utterly AMAZING work in progress, taking place when Gohan when he first starts going to high school. Don't worry, this story goes deeper than you think. In this one, Gohan is still dealing with the pain of Goku's death at the Cell games. The emotion Van-sama pours into his words....I can't describe it, you'll just have to experience it for yourself. It's definitely worth your time, believe me. 


	3. Unknown Enemies

Disclaimer: *glances at watch* No, sorry, the office is closed. No witty disclaimers for today, folks, please come back tomorrow. *posts a sign on the window* I DO NOT OWN DB/Z/GT.  
  
A/N: First off, this chapter is dedicated to my friend Kasi, as certain events in this chapter I think will give her some moments of malicious cackles. ~_^ This one's for you, Kas!  
  
Well well well.......it seems it has taken more over a MONTH to update!!! The worst part is, this chapter has been sitting in my notebook for weeks, I've just been too busy (or lazy!!) to type it. So, my utmost apologies to you all. Thanks to all of you who reviewed, which unfortunately isn't many, but hey!!! Better than nuttin' right? (I am tired, can you tell?) Yeah.... I didn't want to go to bed last night so I stayed up late watching the GT Bebi saga, when I SHOULD have been typing this up!! I am seriously ready to kill my italics now, because the STILL DON'T WORK!!! You know the drill by now. But enough of the senseless babble, onto chapter 3!!!  
  
Meaningless - Chapter 3 Unknown Enemies  
  
The night was turbulent on planet Velassar. Harsh winds whipped across the planet's jagged surface, causing the red, sandy soil to rise and eddy in enormous torrents of furious movement. Storm clouds writhed in the sky above, black, ominous shapes erupting with crashing thunder and flashes of blue light. The night was charged with electricity, so thick that the very air tingled with it.  
  
Vegeta battled his invisible foe in the midst of the inferno of dust, heat, and wind. Coarse sand swirled around him, stinging his skin with relentless fury, yet the Saiyan Prince appeared not to notice. His features drawn once again into a dark scowl, Vegeta pounded the air before him with flurries of vicious attacks.  
  
Sweat poured over his body, sand sticking to the moisture and forming an irritating, crusty layer over his skin before more sweat washed it away. Vegeta snarled and punched the churning air before him, envisioning his fist, its skin red and raw from the chaffing sand, connecting squarely with Kakkarot's smug face.  
  
The third class Saiyan had still not left his head, though it had many moons since his flight from Chikyuu. Relentlessly he had trained, trying to use his new goal to reach Super Saiyan to push Kakkarot from his mind, or at least distract his thoughts from those origins by inflicting pain on himself through his one-sided battles...but of course, as cruel fate would have it, none of it worked. Kakkarot lingered; a constant reminder that his entire being was a pathetic failure. Every day Vegeta's anger waxed while patience rapidly slipped away from him.  
  
Nightly, Vegeta was tormented with painful dreams, bombarded with memories he so longed to forget. His new quest had not filled the void Kakkarot's death had left as Vegeta had convinced himself it would, and that hole within his consciousness grew wider with each passing day. To make matters worse, however, his nightmares were no longer solely based on his departed rival. As of late, every time he closed his eyes, he was haunted by the image of a certain hot-headed, loud-mouthed human female with turquoise hair and penetrating blue eyes.  
  
The thought of her angered Vegeta more than anything. His inability to dismiss all regards towards Kakkarot was at least understandable; infuriating, but nevertheless understandable. But Bulma! There was no excuse for the hold she still held over him. He would not be going back to her, and remembrance of her being only set back his training.  
  
And yet, there was still a small part of him that resisted, that fought back against his newfound and supposedly concrete resolutions. That skeptical part of his brain seemed to take on a life of his own, whispering constantly whether he wanted to hear its words or not.  
  
~Training?~ it scoffed, the sneering voice following him wherever he moved, pounding inside his head.  
  
~Training for what? No Kakkarot to defeat, and this pitiful planet certainly doesn't have any worthy opponents.~ The voice snorted. ~Going for galactic domination again? I doubt that.~  
  
Vegeta increased the pace of his attacks, his movements so fast they would appear as a constant blur had anyone been there to watch. His eyes blazed, and he gritted his teeth in attempt to keep control on his emotions, though bitter-tasting sand immediately found its way into his mouth as he did so. Still, the voice persisted, taunting.  
  
~Poor little prince, running away from home.~  
  
Vegeta snarled.  
  
"It is NOT my HOME!!"  
  
The voice laughed bitterly.  
  
~So now we're back to clinging to Vegeta-sei? Really now, are you ever going to grow up?~  
  
Vegeta rose into the air, savagely attacking at nothing in an almost desperate effort to rid himself of the mocking voice.  
  
The voice hardened.  
  
~You know as well as I do that your little Saiyan bond can't be broken so easily. Just how long do you expect to last out here, completely alone?~  
  
The red aura surrounding him flared upward, and he lashed out with mounting fury.  
  
"I depend on no-one!" Sand flew eagerly into his mouth as he yelled, but he was so caught up in the battle with the voice that he hardly noticed.  
  
~Suuure you don't. Completely independent. That's why you had to run away, so you could try and outrun all those inconvenient little ties you were forming. Is your pride really so enormous that you can't see past your own nose? You're striving to have something that doesn't exist, while you're too blind to see what you have right in front of you. Really, Vegeta, how juvenile.~  
  
His attacks were frenzied now, features contorted to an almost crazed expression.  
  
"I have new goals now! They will sustain me!"  
  
~Why do you keep trying to fool yourself? You're only going to fail at that, too.~  
  
With that, Vegeta lost all control he had maintained up to that point and he reared backwards, hands clenched into fists at his sides.  
  
"Shut UP!!" He yelled into the howling maelstrom, the wind whipping the words from his mouth the moment they left his lips. Dust swirled even more thickly around him as his energy rose, the escalation lifting soil and rock into the air to join in snarling vortex.  
  
"SHUT UP!!!" He screamed the last word, the crazed projection of his voice mixing with the roaring winds, carrying with it all the rage, frustration and agony which had been brewing within him for so long. His body became consumed in a brilliant crimson aura, the blood-red tongues of flame curling around his limbs, drying his sweat and burning away whatever sand still clung to his skin. The fierceness of the sandstorm intensified as he screamed, the earth trembling and cracking beneath his feet at the sudden outburst of power.  
  
The raging storm seemed to match his emotions perfectly, as if he and the tempest were combined as one. It surged with the ferocity and aggression of a hunter, its rage ever growing, never resting. Eventually, the rancor of the storm would become too great to control, and its wrath would ravage the landscape before it, destroying all foolish enough to cross its path. Emotion and nature merged in a terrifying display of rage, wind, and power. Then, as abruptly as it had been born, the power within him died, settling back to whatever depths from which it had emerged. Drained, Vegeta dropped to his hands and knees, scraping his skin as he did so, though the prickles of pain hardly brushed his consciousness. His fingers dug into the hard earth as he half-heartedly fought against that inward voice, images and memories flooding his mind with each pulsing heartbeat. Sand lashed at his body, biting his wounds, the rough grains embedding themselves in his raw skin. And yet he felt none of it, so desperate he was to drive the urges and memories from his mind lest they overpower him.  
  
Finally, he could stand no more, and launched from his hunched position into the air. He could barely see through the thickened clouds, his line of vision all a vast, roaring mass of wind-whipped red sand. It stung his eyes, but he forced them open, searching for his only shelter on this forsaken planet.  
  
Finally, his probing hands felt the smooth surface of the space pod. He threw open the door, not waiting for the automatic mechanism to kick in. The wind slammed the door shut behind him, and he was enveloped in the sudden, blissful silence, the storm nothing but a distant howling beyond the door.  
  
Once inside the cool chambers of the pod's interior, Vegeta's anger slowly diminished. His breathing evened out so it came in calm, easy breaths, rather than the grating, sand-choked, fury-driven gasps he drew but a moment before. He ran a calloused hand over his face, sand sprinkling to the floor as he did so.  
  
He could no longer deny that his regards towards the Woman were much stronger than he had originally anticipated. The fact did not please him, but it was still a fact. He did not miss her; he could not stoop so low as to admitting that; but somehow, he....craved her. Craved to feel her light touch on his weary muscles, see the concern in her eyes when he drove himself beyond his limits. Craved her caresses, and even her loud, obtrusive voice when she argued against him. She was the only one ever brave enough to argue against him.  
  
He walked over to the control panel, glancing for the umpteenth time at the digital clock set on the Chikyuu calendar. It had now been over six months since he left that planet...why he kept track of their time he did not know, only that it remained his last link to that planet and the life he had left behind. As much as it irked him, he could not bring himself to destroy that last remaining link.  
  
Well, not quite the last. Vegeta moved over to another section of the control panel, a distant expression on his face. His fingers lingered over the set of keys which would activate the long-range visual transmitter the Woman's father had installed a few years ago. Much to his contempt, Vegeta often found himself drawn to the device, standing over it for long lengths of time, just watching. The power to see her face again lay at his fingertips...perhaps, just one look, one last glance at that young face, just to satisfy him enough to get her out of his mind for good...  
  
A sudden growl escaped his throat, and his expression hardened once again.  
  
"No." The word hissed out between his teeth, tainting the room with its vicious obstinance. It disgusted him that he had come so close to succumbing to petty emotions; he would NOT be going back, and he would NOT resurrect old ties he had chosen to sever that night he stole the space pod. It infuriated him to no end that he was capable of showing such weakness. The woman was nothing, Kakkarot was nothing - all that mattered now was his own survival - alone.  
  
He brought up a fist and promptly drove it into the control panel in a blaze of sparks, ripping out wires as he withdrew his hand. A dark smirk of Saiyan satisfaction etched his chiseled features at the broken communicator, though at the same time something in the pit of his stomach lurched with despair. He chose this new life; there could be no links.  
  
* * * The man hummed tunelessly to himself as he swept the sidewalk in front of his small store, scratching his mustache as the bristly hairs tickled his upper lip. He slowly went through his mental checklist for the day's events.  
  
~Lunch with mother, order more stock for his store, barber's appointment...~  
  
The man's train of thought was interrupted as his broom came to the base of a pair of tall, stylish brown boots, a set of blue sneakers and lime green socks slightly behind them. His gaze journeyed upwards to behold a young, blonde, denim-clad woman with piercing blue eyes, and a boy who appeared around the same age with shoulder-length black hair and a red scarf about his neck. Both did not appear in the best of moods, so the man straightened up, a welcoming smile on his face.  
  
~The customer is always right!~ he reminded himself.  
  
"You're a bit early this morning, folks!" he said cheerfully. "Anxious to get your shopping done before the midday rush? I'll be opening up in just a second."  
  
The woman merely raised a delicate eyebrow and flicked her cornsilk hair off a slender shoulder in a show of obvious indifference.  
  
"That's nice."  
  
The man's brows drew together in oblivious confusion.  
  
"I'm sorry, Miss, what --"  
  
He was cut off as the black haired youth moved in front, a low chuckle rising from his throat. Smooth features were pulled into a sneer, and he surveyed the shop with distaste.  
  
"Stupid human. We're not here to shop at your pathetic little store."  
  
The man scratched his head, then suddenly straightened indignantly as he realized his store had been insulted by this brash newcomer. He folded his arms defensively across his pudgy chest, planting his feet squarely on the sidewalk in what was supposed to be an imposing stance.  
  
"Well then, young sir, I'll ask you to leave the premises to make way for other customers."  
  
The teenager's sneer grew, ice-blue eyes glinting with malice. In one lightning-fast movement, he snatched the broom from the shopkeeper's grasp, holding it delicately between two fingers.  
  
"No." he jeered. "I don't feel like it."  
  
The middle-aged man stiffened; the standoff had already attracted a small gathering of onlookers. This was bad publicity for his store.  
  
The boy's gaze flicked over his audience before returning to the shopkeeper. With a scarcely detectable twitch of his fingers, the broom splintered into matchwood, the severed pieces raining down onto the sidewalk. The blonde woman stepped up beside her partner, a devilish grin pulling at the corners of her mouth.  
  
Now the man was afraid. Who were these people, and why were they at his store? He desperately stuttered out a protest, anxious to return to the security of his shop's interior.  
  
"I'm w-warning you for the f-final time, p-p-please leave the premises im-m- mediately!!"  
  
The boy smirked, playing with the remains of the broom with his foot.  
  
"No thanks," he said softly, voice edged with steel. "That's your job."  
  
The man did not even get a chance to voice his confusion as a thin beam of light shot from the youth's finger, piercing the shopkeeper's chest and emerging from his back to shatter the brick wall behind.  
  
The crowd around the two teenagers stood in stunned silence, eyes on every face widened with horror and disbelief. A few people stumbled backwards and away from the new deadly duo.  
  
The woman ran her gaze over the crowd, enjoying the looks of terror produced each time she made eye contact. She turned back to her partner, casually tucking pale silken strands behind a dainty ear.  
  
"My my," she mused, voice laden with cruel playfulness. "Whatever are we going to do with all these witnesses? We certainly can't keep them alive."  
  
Her voice hardened and before anyone could react, she spun gracefully on her heel, light spiraling from her index finger. The unlucky victim of her attack crumpled to a lifeless heap at her feet, an expression of shock and pain still frozen on his features.  
  
That awakened the panic. All those who had seen the attack began scrambling wildly in every direction, screams erupting from their lips as they tripped over each other in their desperation to escape.  
  
The boy's face twisted into a mask of malicious delight, and he gleefully began blasting those who fled before him, cackling with pleasure as he did so.  
  
"Finally the fun part!" he exclaimed, casting a dancing look at the woman at his back who was adding her own contributions to the destruction. "Moving targets!"  
  
The girl shook her head at her partner's childishness, but couldn't keep the sadistic grin from her won lips as more pathetic humans fell dead by the works of her hands.  
  
Within moments, every living being in the area lay still, their limp bodies littering the pavement. The duo smiled and moved towards the interior of the city, hungry for more carnage.  
  
* * * Bulma leaned wearily against the overly soft cushions of the den couch. The furniture within the room was her mother's taste, not hers, meaning everything was almost too soft and frilly. The thick carpet, however, was ideal for a toddler still unsteady on his feet, so it was the den, in its various shades of cheerful yellow, which often served as Trunks' playroom. The destructive demi-Saiyan often became bored with his own large playroom, but fortunately he never seemed to tire of tearing apart the den.  
  
The room had been transformed into a disaster area thanks to the baby's newfound walking abilities. Chairs and love-seat lay stripped of their respective cushions, papers, books, and various decorative items lay scattered over the floor, and - a result of Trunks' most recent action - organdy curtains lay in a rumpled pile where small hands had yanked them down in a fit of giggles.  
  
Bulma shook her head as her son surveyed his handiwork, clapping chubby hands together in glee. She had to chuckle when his enthusiasm cost him his balance and the boy plopped down onto his diapered bottom.  
  
Bulma's face fell as quickly as it had brightened. The sound of her own laughter had become almost foreign, so rarely she found occasion to laugh. She checked her calendar several times each day, every time incredulous that so little time had passed.  
  
Six months.  
  
Six months since he left her, abandoned her. Six months since she was left alone to raise a child already possessing signs of abnormal strength and alien abilities, constant reminders of the man who had fathered him. Six months of living with the pangs of loss, both of a friend and a lover. Trunks' first birthday was fast approaching, and only one of his parents would be there to see it. Six months which felt more like generations.  
  
Not liking where her thoughts were leading, Bulma picked up the remote control from the floor and flicked on the television, absently brushing a stray lock of turquoise hair from her eyes. Inattentively she flipped through the channels, not particularly interested, keen only that it prove a distraction from her thoughts.  
  
Trunks glanced up at here, eyes the device in her hand, and a moment later came tottering up to her knee. Small fingers explored the remote's surface as huge, questioning blue eyes stared hopefully up at her.  
  
"See?"  
  
Bulma rolled her eyes and surrendered the remote to her son, who in turn gurgled with delight and sat down to examine his newest toy. Bulma sighed and rested her head on the back of the couch; she hadn't really cared what was on T.V. anyway. From the corny music coming from the set, she could tell without even looking that the current station was playing a soap opera.  
  
~Snap out of it, Bulma!~ she thought to herself. ~It's been six months, how much longer are you going to mope around? He's not coming back, you might as well move on...~  
  
A sudden clatter came from Trunks' direction, and Bulma lifted her head to see the toddler blinking at a now broken remote control, batteries scattered over the floor. The boy wore an expression of surprise which quickly changed to one of feigned innocence when he realized his mother's eyes were one him.  
  
"Not me!!" he declared quickly, though the remains of the remote were still clutched in his tubby fist. Bulma raised an eyebrow and was about to scold when an abrupt change in programs on the T.V. stole her attention.  
  
A nervous reporter was now on the screen, his eyes shifting in a frightened manner.  
  
"We interrupt this program due to current events. South City is under attack!"  
  
Her attention now fully caught, Bulma shifted to a more comfortable position, eyes fixed on the screen. Chaos was erupting behind the reporter, tongues of flame devouring buildings and terrified screams sounding from every direction. The man gripped his microphone tightly, looking like he would rather be anywhere but his present location.  
  
"Two mysterious youths have appeared and for unknown reasons have set out murdering their own kind! The entire city is in a state of panic, and it has been estimated that if reinforcements do not arrive soon, the city's entire population may be wiped out! I think the question on every person's lips is, who are these crazed murderers?"  
  
The reported opened his mouth to continue his broadcast, but no sound emerged save a low gurgle, and the man's eyes widened in sudden shock. The now trembling camera panned down to the man's stomach - and more importantly - the bloody hand which protruded from it.  
  
Bulma's hand flew to her mouth, the other clutching her stomach as it lurched with nausea. Transfixed, she found herself unable to tear her gaze from the screen, even as the horror of what was happening unfolded before her.  
  
The camera now lay on its side on the ground, its bearer having dropped it and fled immediately following the death of his colleague. As Bulma watched, wide-eyed, someone picked up the camera and turned it around so the lens was facing him.  
  
The image of a black-haired teenager now filled the screen. Pale eyes glittered with sick humor, and a chill swept through Bulma's body at the boy's wicked smile.  
  
"Perhaps I should answer the good man's question." he said, voice barely hiding cruel laughter.  
  
"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Android Seventeen, and somewhere around here is my sister, Android Eighteen. But you might as well just think of us as your death. It'll save your pathetic human minds the trouble of remembering such complicated names." He raised an eyebrow, obviously enjoying his moment of fame.  
  
"Don't believe me?" he taunted, mouth set in a sneer. "Well then. I guess I'll just have to convince you."  
  
The camera was abruptly swung around, broken scenery blurring dizzily. It stopped to focus on a woman pressed up against a brick wall, her expression one of complete and utter terror.  
  
Seventeen's hand appeared in front of the lens, the cowering woman visible between the cyborg's wide-spread fingers.  
  
"Say bye-bye!"  
  
With that, blinding light blasted from his hand, consuming his victim before she even had a chance to scream. The camera's holder erupted into a fit of almost child-like laughter.  
  
The air before the camera blurred, and in the next instant a blonde woman appeared, blocking the crumpled form of the lifeless girl from view. Seventeen's cackles ceased, and he spoke in an amused monotone once more.  
  
"Ah, Eighteen. So you have decided to join me in my little newscast?"  
  
The woman remained unimpressed, raising her hand at the camera.  
  
"Enough fooling around. You're letting everyone get away." A second later, the screen went black as the camera was consumed in a blast of energy from Eighteen's outstretched hand.  
  
Bulma sat perched stiffly on the edge of the couch, hands gripping her knees. Her mouth hung open, face a mask of horror and confusion.  
  
"What on Chikyuu just happened?!?" she burst out, her shock wearing away to make way for indignance. Trunks crawled up to the darkened screen, touching softly at the spot where the image of the murdered woman's corpse had last been. He turned to look at his mother, eyes wide with questions.  
  
"No wake up." He stated, voice filled with confusion and innocence. "Why no wake up?"  
  
Bulma grimaced and swept him into her arms, petting his face comfortingly and placing her hand over his eyes, even though the terrible images were long gone from the screen.  
  
"Don't think about it, baby." she crooned, turning away from the now offensive television in an effort to protect her son from what he had just witnessed. "Let's go get a snack, ok?" She hurried out of the room, eager to put some distance between herself and the horrifying broadcast.  
  
She was just shutting the door to the den when the telephone rang. Holding Trunks in the crook of one arm, she picked up the jangling receiver and secured it between her shoulder and chin.  
  
"Bulma?" ChiChi's voice came from the other end and from the sound of it, the woman was close to hysteria. "I don't know if you saw what was just on T.V., but everyone's left. Piccolo, Kuririn, Yamucha...Gohan, too."  
  
Through all the muddled events which had so quickly been pressed in upon her, Bulma was only able to utter one high-pitched reply;  
  
"WHAT?!"  
  
* * * The sandstorm had long since ceased. Vegeta sat cross-legged on the dusty ground, face set in its usual scowl. He was growing more impatient with each passing hour, for his training seemed to be going nowhere. No matter how much his power escalated, how hard he pressed himself onward, he still could not reach the infuriatingly elusive level of Super Saiyan. Nor could he drive thoughts of Kakkarot or his mate from his mind.  
  
Growling, he tore a leg from the dead beast which lay at his feet. The planet had not been completely void of life as it had first appeared to be, and fortunately so. His small supply of capsulized food had disappeared at an alarmingly fast rate, so now the planet's unintelligent, reptilian inhabitants were his only source of food. Bitter-tasting and of tough texture, but filling.  
  
Vegeta ripped at the deceased animal's flesh savagely. At first it had surprised him how quickly his body had resorted to his former barbaric Saiyan behavior, but now he barely took notice of the change. No-one was around to see him, and even if they were, Vegeta doubted he would care.  
  
Even so, that small, annoying part of him refused to keep quiet. Not so much a small part, perhaps...more like a deeper part. He could feel himself slowly becoming the savage he once had been - ruthless and untamed, caring for nothing and no-one save his own strength.  
  
His mind welcomed this, as it seemed his only hope of escaping bitter memories, but even as he formed these thoughts, his soul cried out in protest. Vegeta knew that in giving himself over to his old instincts, he was walking willingly into that colourless void which his life had become since Kakkarot's death. He had fled Chikyuu to escape that terrible emptiness, but now memories were driving him to the point of insanity. His priorities had become horribly hidden from view.  
  
The opposing parts tore at him, creating in his mind a tide of emotions so vast it would take more than a life-time to sort them out. He was confused, and that angered the Saiyan prince more than anything.  
  
Vegeta but off another mouthful of coarse hide, spitting out bones as he came across them. His appetite satisfied, he cast the remains of the creature's body aside and stood up, glaring out at the landscape around him.  
  
The scenery had changed slightly since his first arrival. Many cliffs had since been reduced to piles of rock and gravel, and several areas of the ground were scorched a burnt black, all result of his intense training. Vegeta had long since changed from his usual attire after one annoying incident in the first month of his stay on the planet when his sweat pants had actually caught fire during his training. It was not an experience he wanted to repeat, and certainly not something that should happen to a Prince of the Saiyan race. Thus, he now wore only dark spandex shorts. They were more convenient for training anyway.  
  
Pushing these unimportant thoughts aside with an impatient grunt, Vegeta began focusing his power to a higher level to begin his usual training sessions. A blue glow of rising energy was just beginning to tingle against his skin when a clear, sharp doorway was abruptly opened in his mind.  
  
::Vegeta!::  
  
The Prince dropped his concentration, startled. He knew that voice as well as his own; it belonged to the Namekian. Vegeta's eyebrows shot upward; he knew of that race's telepathic abilities, but had no idea they could be this powerful. For a fighter such as Piccolo to reach this far into space and contact him directly, his power must have skyrocketed. Vegeta scowled at this. Had they discovered some new training technique during his absence? If so, -  
  
::Vegeta!:: Piccolo's voice cut in again, urgently this time. ::We don't have time for this! You have to come back to Chikyuu NOW!::  
  
Vegeta snorted. Saiyans had a little experience with telepathy, and he used the link already created by Piccolo to answer.  
  
"Oh really?" he replied aloud, folding his arms over his bare chest and raising a challenging eyebrow, though he knew the Namekian could not see him. "And who are you to be giving ME orders? I don't plan on --"  
  
::Shut up!::  
  
Vegeta started, then regained his composure with lightning speed, eyes narrowing in anger dangerously close to erupting. He was not given the chance to open his mouth, however, before Piccolo continued. The rain of scathing insults lay still on the tip of Vegeta's tongue.  
  
::I don't have time for your idiocy, Vegeta, now listen to me! We are under attack. We can't even hold off our enemy, we're being torn apart one by one!::  
  
The urgency in the Namekian's deep voice kept Vegeta rooted to the spot, for once unable to reply.  
  
::We can't survive much longer, Vegeta, I don't know where you think you are, but we need you here NOW!::  
  
Slowly, a sadistic grin spread over Vegeta's features and he began to laugh, a low, vibrating sound full of mocking and triumph.  
  
"So," he began, voice thick and smug. "The aloof Namekian comes crawling to me. Well perhaps I don't --"  
  
A growling shout of frustration and anger cut him off mid-sentence, followed by a stream of coarse profanity. Piccolo's voice blasted into the prince's mind, sending him reeling backwards in a very undignified manner.  
  
::You FOOL!:: Piccolo barked, voice now lined with the slightest hint of fear. ::Save your speeches for later! Whether you like it or not, you are one of Chikyuu's defenders, and right now we need your strength HERE! We are being slaught--::  
  
The Namekian's words were suddenly cut off, replaced by a sickening, wet gurgle. A second later, the link closed as quickly as it had been opened, and Vegeta was left alone once again on his planet, the slightest traces of shock etched upon his aristocratic features.  
  
The shock soon intensified, however, as a familiar ki flared, its power so high that Vegeta was able to sense it effortlessly even from the depths of space.  
  
Kakkarot's brat.  
  
Vegeta's onyx eyes widened in disbelief and denial as the demi-Saiyan's power-level shot upwards, and far beyond Vegeta's own. The prince knew there was only one way the boy could have undergone such a drastic escalation so abruptly; he must have turned Super Saiyan upon his mentor's death.  
  
But this was impossible!! A mere child could not possibly attain what he himself had worked for his entire life, and still not reached! But then again, the waves of power washing over him obviously proved otherwise. To provoke such a reaction....Chikyuu must indeed be under siege.  
  
Vegeta's brows furrowed, and with closed eyes he stretched out his senses, probing, searching the distant planet for the life forces of those who had once been his comrades in battle. One by one, he found them, though sweat beaded on his brow from the effort, for their ki's were not only far away, but dangerously low.  
  
They were all together, and all were perilously close to the point of death. This did not surprise Vegeta; Gohan's transformation had verified Piccolo's words. As the life forces of the Z-senshi steadily dropped, a familiar fire awoke within the Saiyan prince. A desire he knew all too well began to tug at his mind and body, compelling him to join the battle raging on Chikyuu.  
  
Still, he resisted. A snarl hissed out between his teeth, and he almost pulled his concentration from Chikyuu. That planet's fate, and the fate of its defenders, no longer concerned him. He had broken all ties connecting him in any way with his past life, and knew that if he returned to it now, it would only open old wounds.  
  
~And when did the mighty Prince of Saiyans become afraid of pain?~ the voice in his mind challenged. ~ Running from a fight, that's what you're doing. Again.~  
  
Vegeta growled.  
  
"I am NOT afraid to battle!! I resist only because this fight is none of my concern!" He shouted into empty air, a scuttling lizard his only audience. Still, the voice did not relent.  
  
~That never stopped you from joining in the fray before.~ The voice suddenly became low and firm rather than mocking. ~They. Are. Dying. If you stand around and only watch, you're a bigger coward than I ever thought possible.~ With that, the voice left him, leaving Vegeta seething with anger and frustration. Even as he fought against the voice's words, his Saiyan instincts betrayed him. Inadvertently he felt himself drawn to the battle, and his blood began to flow faster at the thought of a fight. Vegeta clenched his fists, forcing the impulses down, and returned his full attention to Chikyuu once again.  
  
Most were gone. What few ki's remained were quickly fading, and Vegeta knew with almost sickening clarity that they would not live much longer. Against his will, a shred of guilt settled firmly onto his shoulders; people were fighting and dying while he stood by and watched the show. One by one they faded, until only Gohan's life force remained. The direness of the situation finally took hold in Vegeta's mind, pushing his obstinance aside. What had happened that Chikyuu's special forces were ground into defeat so easily?  
  
Suddenly, a new realization hit him, and he pushed his senses further, almost desperately. Frantically he combed Chikyuu's surface, searching for any trace of the life he had once allowed himself to love. Near panic claimed his usually emotionless thoughts as his searches came back vacant, finding no trace of the woman for whom he looked so urgently. Whether her life-force was naturally to weak to feel from such a distance or something more dire had taken place the prince did not know, but was not going to wait around to find out.  
  
Pushing the last remnants of Saiyan stubbornness from his mind, Vegeta raced to the space pod, a sick feeling sitting like a rock in the pit of his stomach. He had no time to dwell on his pride, or the fact that he was going against all decisions he had so firmly established before.  
  
All he knew was that he was going home.  
  
A/N: Phew!! That was a HARD chapter to write, so I'm glad it's over!! For those of you who've read my fic "Shattered", I realize the scene with Bulma was somewhat similar to that. However, that was the only way to develop the story the way I wanted it, so my apologies for the monotony. I know I made Trunks more advanced than most babies in the fact that he can walk and talk already, but I figured that the combination of Saiyan blood and Bulma's brain would make him ahead of the average kid, don'tcha think? Anyway, this chapter totally drained me, so that's about all I'm going to say for now.  
  
Story Advertising: Something Deeper by Tenshi Sasher. I think most of you who are reading this story have most likely read hers as well, but just for those of you who haven't, go check it out. Trust me, it's more than worth the time!!! That said, I'm going to go sleep now.....I really hate exam time!!! =P 


	4. Bloodshed and Bitter Reunion

Disclaimer: Blah blah blah, you know the drill.

A/N: Ah, I'm such an evil little Mira….I wrote this chapter when I SHOULD have been taking the time to review other fics….but hey, when inspiration hits you, ya gotta use it, right? Unfortunately what triggered my inspiration for this chappie was the death of my dalmation. :..( But let's not get into that, shall we? Onto the fic!!

Meaningless - chapter 4

Bloodshed and Bitter Reunion

Their bodies were everywhere. They lay sprawled in the cracked street among the crumbled wreckage of buildings, twisted into abnormal positions. Some were barely recognizable, so badly their bodies had been marred or burned - indeed,  some had been nearly destroyed completely. Anyone else would have turned at the horrific sight and wretched, but Vegeta, one who had watched entire civilizations die at his hands, simply stood in the midst of it all, unmoving.

Light was fast fading but no brilliant display of colour graced the sky. All was the same, impenetrable shade of grey, lifeless as the bodies littering the streets. Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance, and even as Vegeta stood, chilling droplets of rain began to fall, mingling with the crimson pools which already covered the ground.

Haltingly, he came to each of his fallen comrades, his boots crunching over bits of broken glass and cement. Silently, he  surveyed them all, paying each fighter their respectful dues.

First there was Yamucha. The Saiyan prince had never held much respect for the human, perhaps none at all, but no scathing comments entered his thoughts now. The man lay on his side, drawn tightly into a ball, face contorted in a visage of terror and intense pain. His skin was ashen as the sky above, all the fighter's life-blood having drained out through the gaping hole in his abdomen. Stiff fingers still clutched at the wound, forever frozen in a futile effort to stop the bleeding. 

Next came Kuririn. Vegeta had mocked and insulted him many times in life, always irritated by the bald-headed human's happy nature. There was no trace of that joy now. Eyes which once danced with mirth and playful cheerfulness now were only empty sockets; whoever the attacker had been must have blasted the small man through the eyes and into his brain. An effective way of killing - Vegeta himself had used that particular technique before. Yet it was somehow different now... seasoned warrior that he was, Vegeta could not help but grimace at the former monk's singed face and turn away.

Not far away lay another, this one horrible charred and burned to the point of non-recognition. Only the tiny size of the corpse gave away its identity - Chaotzu. His blackened, childlike body was crumpled on a tilted slab of cement, and close by, nearly entirely obscured by broken chunks of brick and glass, was another battered form which could only be Tenshinhan. 

Lastly, he came upon the battered remains of the strongest paladin of the fallen senshi - Piccolo. Vegeta stopped, and though his expression remained impassive, he closed his eyes in silent eulogy. 

                _A great warrior has fallen._

Piccolo's form lay broken, sprawled across the rubble. Limbs were twisted and snapped - he must have endured a longer beating than the others. His clothing was ripped and ragged , exposing many deep wounds - too many.  Thick, purple liquid had leaked from them onto the pavement, tainting the wet cement a sickly violet and soaking the tattered rags which clung to the warrior's torn muscles; all that was left of the Namekian's gi.  A fatally large hole was centered in his chest, the ground visible through it covered thickly with dark blood. The steady drizzle of rain splashed and ran over is face, and though it removed some of the caked blood, it could do nothing to ease the expression of agony etched so deeply into the Namekian's features, nor the milky blankness which glazed over his once intensely burning eyes. 

Vegeta started slightly, for in his silent observations he had not noticed the small form of a child nested beside the stiff body. At first he thought it was the corpse of a regular child, perhaps a victim Piccolo had been trying to defend. But another glance informed him otherwise; the unruly black hair, gi identical to that of Piccolo's, and finely chiseled muscles- far too developed for a regular human of that age revealed the boy's real identity.

Gohan was curled at Piccolo's side, not dead, but not conscious either. The boy was curled miserably into a ball, making his countenance appear even smaller and more helpless. He clutched Piccolo's ragged clothing in both fists asa if desperate to cling to his mentor as long as he could, even when he lapsed into unconsciousness. His dirty face was streaked with tears, and even in his sleep his expression turned to one of heartache, and a small, pitiful whimper escaped his throat. The painfully young demi-Saiyan had crawled beneath one of Piccolo's arms, and the now cold appendage hung limply over the boy's hunched shoulders as if the still form was returning Gohan's tear-choked embrace.

Vegeta bent down, carefully prying Gohan's fingers from Piccolo's gi. Roughly he lifted him into his arms, the boy's damp hair sticking to Vegeta's rain-soaked chest. Gohan stirred at the movement, face scrunching up as though he might cry. Vegeta tensed; he did not want to deal with an emotional seven year old under the present circumstances; but Gohan merely whimpered softly and went limp once more. 

"Piccolo..."  He whispered, a single tear sliding down his face to mix with the rain. He curled up in Vegeta's arms, looking suddenly vulnerable as a baby bird flung from its nest in a storm.

Vegeta took one last look at the mangled bodies scattered around him, bodies of honest men who had once fought at his side. They had been brave, despite their weaknesses, Vegeta had to credit them for that. Whatever had taken place here, they did not deserve to die like this, to have their corpses picked at by scavengers, left exposed to harsh winds and rain. Yet he had been too late. All were gone, and this was where they would forever rest; this broken, crumbled graveyard of ruined buildings and stolen lives. 

Frowning, Vegeta pushed the twinges of remorse from his mind and, holding Gohan securely, blasted off into the now darkened sky towards home. 

* * *

The drizzle had worsened into a downpour by the time Vegeta touched down on Capsule Corporation property. The ground churned, carefully manicured lawns reduced to mud under the heavy assault from the heavens. As soon as his aura of energy faded upon landing, Vegeta was instantly soaked to the bone. Gohan sniffled in his sleep and clung tighter to his bearer, face puckered like an infant about to cry.

Through the driving rain, Vegeta could just make out the outline of the CC building, in pristine order as usual and showing no outward signs that any attacks had taken place. In spite of himself, he breathed a sigh of relief; whoever had murdered and destroyed the other city and not been here. 

His fears quenched, the Saiyan prince scowled, his only thoughts now focused on his anger. He had forsaken his resolutions to leave this place, and now, because of a stupid childish fear, he was back. Back in the mouth of all he had wanted to escape, and now he was trapped even deeper in the mire. Somehow he knew - the space pod would not be leaving Chikyuu again.

Gohan shifted in his sleep, bringing Vegeta abruptly out of his thoughts. Shaking water out of his eyes, he stormed into the house, slamming the door shut with his foot. 

* * * 

Bulma woke with a start at the sound of the front door. Blearily she sat up, shielding her eyes against the harsh overhead light. Her head ached, and her cheek was sore from having rested against the arm of the couch for so long.

_   I must have fallen asleep while watching the news._

Immediately after her phone call from ChiChi, Bulma had focused all her attention on the television once again, despite how traumatizing the images filling the screen were. She was painfully aware of the danger the z-senshi had placed themselves in when they left to find the _jinzouningen_, and knew that if anything were to happen, she would have to watch to find out. 

Her mind cleared as she blinked the sleep out of her eyes, and she bolted upright. A million thoughts, hopes, and fears swarmed over her, and she raced through the hallways and flights of stairs towards the front door, leaping three steps at a time in her haste.

_Someone's here, but who? Has something happened? Are they alright? Is it all over? O please let it be someone saying they're all alright!!_

After what seemed an eternity, she burst through the door into the front living room, only to freeze a second later.

There before her, glaring as always, was Vegeta. The man she had tried so hard to forget for the past six months, whom she had convinced herself would not be coming back, now stood in her living room. Bulma's breath caught in her throat, and she had to steady herself against the doorframe while she swept her gaze over him, memorizing every detail of his appearance as though he would disappear the next instant.

He was scowling, angular features and onyx eyes radiating a fury she had never seen before at such a severe intensity. His obsidian, flame-like hair was wet from the rain which drummed on the roof and windows, and clung to his face and neck.  Her eyes played over the sculptured muscles she knew so well, the scars which criss-crossed his body, some of which she was unfamiliar with. Bulma felt a nearly overpowering compulsion to run to him, but with stubborn willpower she remembered where and who she was, and a dark glare settled over her face instead. She was about to deliver a heated accusation when she noticed the small form cradled against his bare chest. 

"Gohan?!" 

Fear clasped her heart with sudden severity, and she rushed over to the sleeping demi-Saiyan, brushing damp, ebony locks from his forehead and noting his pain-filled face. 

"Oh no..." she whispered, her greatest fears roaring upwards in a tsunami of emotion. She looked up at Vegeta, her penetrating gaze full of unspoken dread. 

"Was he the only one?" Her voice cracked, a whisper barely audible even to Vegeta's highly sensitive hearing. He nodded sharply.

"They were massacred. Gohan is the only survivor."

Bulma's head shot up, her sapphire eyes blazing with fury and grief. Her body was rigid, and tears threatened to fall.

"Don't say that!" she snapped, taking Gohan's form into her arms regardless of her small size. "What makes you think I would _want_ to hear that??"

Vegeta crossed his arms, on the defensive for the first time in half a year. He did not even have time to retort, however, as Bulma was already half-dragging Gohan out of the room towards the stairs. She cast a hateful look over her shoulder, gaze so filled with venom that anyone else would have recoiled from her. 

"_You_ stay here." she spat, the single tear running down her face betraying her seemingly pure anger. "We have some talking to do."

Outraged, Vegeta swore fervently under his breath at her slowly retreating back. Still, the rain of insults stuck in his throat; somehow, it didn't seem the proper time. 

Bulma was struggling to carry Gohan, he slender frame trembling under the boy's weight. 

"Geez, kid!" he heard her mutter, though her tone was thick and wavered with scarcely controlled tears. "You could do to take off a few pounds!!" 

Vegeta rolled his eyes and uncrossed his arms. In a few strides he was at her side, taking Gohan - who miraculously was still sleeping - from her arms into his own. 

"Kami, woman, can't you do anything?"

She glared ferociously at him and moved as if to take Gohan back. Vegeta snorted and stepped out of her reach.

"Don't be absurd. You can't carry someone half his size with those skinny arms. Where to you want me to put him, weakling?"

Bulma's eyes seemed to shoot daggers, but she gestured up the stairs. 

"Put him in the blue room at the end of the left hall. And be gentle!!" He shot her a withering look which she returned with equal vengeance. 

"I'm going to call ChiChi to tell her she's alright." She turned to lave, but twirled around to fix him with one last piercing  stare. 

"Don't even _think_ about going anywhere - I still want to talk to you."

"Do not order me!!" Vegeta growled, already halfway up the stairs. "Don't think I came back because of _you_!!"With that he turned his back to her, ignoring the curses she swore at him under her breath. 

_Oh, but you DID come back because of her, remember? _the dry voice sneered. _Or did you forget?_

Vegeta's eye twitched, and he struggled to keep from shouting. 

"Shut up!" he snarled, pausing as Gohan stirred. "I made the mistake of coming back, now leave me in peace!"

The voice laughed.

_Very well. As you wish, Prince._

It vanished once again, leaving Vegeta alone with his anger. He stomped down the hall, too furious to even be quiet anymore. Kicking open the door to the room Bulma indicated, he dropped Gohan unceremoniously on the bed and tromped back out to the hall, his entire body shaking with fury and frustration.

Muttering profanities to himself, Vegeta did not even notice the tiny boy before him until her nearly tripped over him. He turned to vent his anger upon this person foolish enough to cross his path, when he was stopped short.

The lavender hair, the blue eyes identical in hue to his mother's... there was no mistaking who this child was. 

His son.

Trunks tilted his head to one side, crystal blue eyes full of curiosity. He regarded the man before him with the innocence of his young age, and slowly recognition began to dawn on his features. 

"Papa?"

He shuffled over to Vegeta, the socks of his soft yellow sleeper sliding on the tiled floor. He rested a chubby hand lightly on his father's leg, staring up at him with wide eyes full of adoration.

Vegeta scowled and moved away, causing Trunks to topple forward onto his hands and knees. The baby's face scrunched up and he opened his mouth to let out a wail — 

"Don't even think about it, brat!" Vegeta growled, then headed down the padded stair without a second glance. Trunks stopped crying abruptly and crossed his arms, sticking out his tongue at his father's back in defiance.

Vegeta came to the base of the stairs, expression dark and stormy as the thunderclouds outside. First Bulma, now the brat... things were moving far too quickly, leaving him no time to rethink and sort things out. Even this house was more harm than help; every turn, every furnishing, every tile in the floor was familiar to him. It made him want to blast the entire place into tiny pieces.

Bulma certainly had not changed. Even he could not deny that she was beautiful; the first sight of her when she had entered the room and stood looking him over - somehow she had awakened all the emotions he had carefully buried withing himself over the past six months in a heartbeat. 

He didn't like it. In all respects, he should not even be here. He _should_ be on Velassar, training steadily as a true warrior would. Yet he could not erase the images of the look she gave him before he went up the stairs, her shockingly blue eyes filled with that fiery spirit he had first fallen for. 

Vegeta snarled and his jaw tightened. 

_A Saiyan prince should never fall._

He came into the living room where Bulma waited. She rose upon his entry, her face an unreadable mask. She crossed the distance between them quickly, determination set upon her features. She was so close to him now...

_Slap!!_

Vegeta resisted the reflex to touch his stinging cheek and stared at the woman incredulously, though outwardly he showed only anger.

"What was that?" he demanded, locking gazes with matched fury. "I come back and this is how you greet me? How dare you strike a prince!"

Inwardly he cursed his stupidity.

_Why did I say that?? Now I'll appear a sniveling weakling who depends on HER support, of all unworthy people!! _

Bulma, however, was shaking with rage. 

"How dare _I?!?" _she burst out, voice rising on every word. "How can you say that?? Is social status still all that matters to you?" She brought up her hand to strike him again, but Vegeta caught her wrist effortlessly. 

"Where do you think you've been? You abandoned them, and now they're _dead!_ ALL of them!! How prince-like is that to desert your own teammates?" She was nearing hysteria, though the anger in her eyes flamed brighter than Vegeta had ever seen it. Her other hand rose, but he caught that one as well.

"You bragged about your strength constantly, and how all of my friends were weaklings compared to you! Well if that's true, why weren't you there when they needed you? If you're really so powerful you should have been there to save them!"

Tears poured over her cheeks and she struggled against his hold on her wrists. Vegeta remained impassive and unmoving. 

"You're a coward, Vegeta! A coward! You could have saved them but you hid while they fought until it was all over, and now _every single one_ of them is _dead!_ Do you hear me? " She was shouting now, consumed by her rage. Somewhere deep within him, Vegeta felt somehow betrayed by the look of absolute hatred she cast upon him.

"All my friends are DEAD!!"

Abruptly, her fury faded and she collapsed against his chest, sobbing uncontrollably. Vegeta's brows furrowed and he swallowed, unsure of how to act. 

What she said had cut him more than he cared to admit; he had been abusing himself repeatedly for the same reasons. He took no pride in the reality that he had hidden away on his planet while the battle here took place. Had he been true to his race, he would have plunged into the fray without a second thought, simply for the exhilaration of the fight. The fact that the z-senshi died as cause of his hesitation did nothing to confuse his already confused state of mind, either. Personally their deaths did not effect him, but a true warrior would have fought alongside his comrades to the bitter end, regardless of petty complications. He was a disgrace to his kind.

Slowly, a new fire, a hatred, welled up inside him as Bulma wept. He loathed whoever had done this, whoever had attacked the senshi and slaughtered them so mercilessly. He hated whoever had caused Bulma so much pain. She was one of the most inwardly strong and stubborn people he had ever known, and to see her so distraught filled Vegeta with a compulsion to track down her tormentor so great that he nearly left right then and there. Only the sense of her form against him kept him from leaving. 

Vegeta found himself wanting to protect her as he once had, to shield her from those things beyond her control. She was powerless to defend herself, but he possessed that power for her. He had come back for her, no-one else - she was his chosen mate, after all, and no-one on this pitiful planet had the right to cause the mate of a Saiyan prince such woes. He would make certain she never cried again.

He glanced down at her still shaking form, startled that he still held onto her wrists. Quickly he released them, then slowly moved to wrap his arm around her slender waist. At his first touch, however, Bulma's head snapped up, furious despite her tears. Roughly she pushed him away, fists clenched. 

"Don't touch me!!" she snarled with startling ferocity, then whirled and fled up the stairs. 

Vegeta registered his shock and pounded after her, face flaming with anger and humiliation that his pride had once again been stepped on so easily. 

He reached the entrance to their old room just in time to receive a pillow and blanket directly in the face, the door slamming shut immediately following their delivery.  He stood glaring at the door for a full minute before, finally convinced that the room's occupant had no intention of opening it again, glowering all the way down the stairs to the living room where he dropped rigidly onto the couch, seething. 

He had put his pride on hold for her, abandoned his vows to stay away from this cursed planet, and even gone so far as to almost show affection towards her, and had received nothing in return but injury to his ego. 

"I should never have come back."

He glared at the ceiling for another moment before rolling over, back stiff with agitation, to attempt sleep.

* * *

The next morning dawned bright and cold. The skies were still overcast with dim grey clouds, and freezing winds tore across the lands. Trees bent from the icy gusts, their creaking moans joining with the anguished cries of people from every city and town as news of the South City tragedy spread like wildfire, awakening fear in even the bravest of souls. Everything seemed faded into the same formidable shade, the landscape as bleak and empty as the millions of shattered hearts. 

Inside the CC compound, the air tingle with hostility. Two people occupied the spacious kitchen - one concentrated all her attention on a slowly filling coffee pot, the other sat grimly at the table, charcoal eyes following the woman's every movement. Though their combined presences were creating obvious tension, neither figure left the room, refusing to give the other the satisfaction of watching them leave. 

Vegeta watched Bulma with hawk-like sharpness while she waited for her coffee, noting every detail. The previous night's events had taken a hard toll on her as was to be expected. Her posture was hunched and almost defeated, and she rested on the counter-top weakly. Tiredly she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, never looking away from the coffee pot.  She looked so frail, so vulnerable...he rubbed his cheek where she had slapped him the night before and smirked. No matter how weak she may appear, she certainly had _some_ fire left in her.

Bulma poured a mug full of now steaming coffee and sat down heavily at the table, sighing gustily. Her eyes were red and swollen; if she didn't stop crying all the time she was going to ruin her complexion. She knew Vegeta was watching her - his focus had never wandered since she arrived in the kitchen half an hour ago. Finally losing her patience, she brought her haze up sharply to counter his, fine eyebrows drawn into a challenging glare. 

"Do you mind?" she said testily, noting with minute satisfaction that the slightest traces of surprise flickered through his eyes at her sudden change in behaviour. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't look at me like that. Don't think I can't see you, you vulture."

Vegeta snorted and stood up from the table. 

"Don't flatter yourself, woman." he sneered, then crossed the room and began pulling various items out of the refrigerator. The weighted silence settled over them once more. 

Bulma set down her mug and massaged her temples, expression filled with pain and confusion. More than anything she wanted to fall into Vegeta's embrace and let him take away her sorrows, to feel his strong arms around her and lean back against that muscular chest. She needed comfort - the tragic events of the day before were tormenting her beyond comprehension, and she desperately needed someone to lean on. Somehow, it hurt more now, with Vegeta in the same room but so unreachable, than it did when he was millions of miles away. Her whole being cried out to accept him again...but she could not forgive him for leaving her as he did; for leaving all of them. She would never forgive him for letting them die. 

A hot trickle ran down her cheek, and she wiped it away with her thumb, holding in the sobs which fought to burst out from within her. She would not let him see her cry again. Kuririn, Yamucha...people she had grown up with, shared her hopes, dreams, and adventures, laughed with her, and been there to catch her tears. People whose close friendships were irreplaceable, and whose deaths now left a gaping hole in her heart so vast she feared I would swallow her up lest she drop her guard. First Son, now the others...it was as if time was playing a cruel game against her, and all she could do was weep.

Vegeta wolfed down his platter of sausages and dropped the pan in the sink with a resounding clatter. Bulma flinched and turned her head to glare at him, though he pretended not to notice.

"Can't you be careful with anything?" she snapped, though it was more of a statement than a question. Vegeta shot her a disgusted look and headed for the door. 

"I'm going out to train. You would be wise not to bother me." He was almost out the door when her voice stopped him.

"Wait..." She sounded suddenly desperate, and he turned, mildly curious, though h plastered a dark scowl on his face.

"What now?" he barked. Bulma scrambled up from the table, her entire attitude drastically changed. Where before she appeared angry and obstinate, now she was small and fearful as a young child.

"Please," she said, voice soft and pleading. "Take me to them."

Whatever harsh commentary and grating insults Vegeta had formulated abruptly died. He found his iron resolve slipping away, and he nodded grimly.

"Very well," he stated simply, and Bulma could have wept with relief. "Though I warn you - you will have to be strong."

Bulma drew herself up, regaining her normal, business-like composure. Vegeta felt oddly proud of her...by physical standards she was pathetically weak, yet she managed to endure so much...

"Let's go then."

Just as they were leaving, soft footsteps sounded from the far end of the kitchen. Both turned, knowing all too well who the newest arrival was.

Gohan stood in the doorway, hair tousled and unbrushed. His clothing was rumpled from having slept in it, and several patches sported dark, crumbling stains - undoubtedly Piccolo's blood. The young demi-Saiyan's eyes were sandy from  his fitful sleep, and he bore the wild, terrified look of a cornered animal. 

"Where's Piccolo?" he demanded, the question hovering in the air like the toll of a death bell. "I was with him...what did you do with him?" His voice shook, and his gaze darted back and forth between the two other figures desperately. He did not appear to be in the least surprised or taken aback at Vegeta's presence...though it was likely that the boy was too shaken by the death of his mentor to notice anything. 

Bulma walked cautiously towards him, her own face full of sympathy.

"Gohan, honey..." she paused, though whether she was struggling for words or fighting back tears Vegeta was unable to determine due to her turned back. "Piccolo and the others...didn't make it through. We were just leaving to go to them."

Gohan's eyes widened in shock, and he trembled violently.

"You _left him there?!?"_

Bulma winced visibly, and she stretched out her arm to comfort the horrified boy.

"There was nothing I could do, I'm sorry....I'm going back for him now."

Gohan swatted her hand away, his untamed appearance adding to the air of desperation around him.

"How could you leave him there?!? What...what if he's cold? Or lonely? I promised him I'd never leave him! How could you just abandon him like that?"

Bulma stared at him, tears welling up in here eyes and spilling down over her pale skin.

"Gohan..."

Vegeta's lip curled, and he shook his head. 

"The boy's gone mad." he said disgustedly. "What a waste."

Bulma whirled on him, eyes ablaze. 

"Don't say that!" she snapped. "Can't you see how much he's suffering right now?" 

Gohan interrupted before Vegeta could respond. 

"I want to come."

Bulma turned a pain-filled gaze on the boy, holding out her hands in apology. 

"Gohan, I'm sorry, but your mother should be here to pick you up soon..."

Gohan began shaking harder, and his head reared backwards as a tormented scream erupted from the centre of his sorrow-laden heart. Hair flickered back and forth between ebony and gold, and an aura of brilliant yellow curled and blaze around the boy's body.

Bulma was flung backwards at the sudden burst of power, crashing into the counter and tumbling to cower on the floor, one arm held in front of her face to shield her eyes from the blinding light. 

Vegeta watched Gohan's transformation through narrowed eyes, teeth clenched.

_So I was correct in my assumptions,_ he thought with more than a light taste of bitterness. _He _is_ a Super Saiyan._

Plaster began raining down from the ceiling as Gohan's power began to escalate, the floor and walls of the room crackling and quaking. Finally Gohan stopped his heart-wrenching cry, though he remained in his ascended state, wet emerald eyes firm with determination.

"Let...me....come!"

Bulma rose shakily to her feet, eyeing Gohan nervously.

"Alright," she relented. "But it won't help, you know that."

As abruptly as it came, Gohan's energy faded, his hair turning back to its original black. With slumped shoulders, he breathed a sigh of gratitude, brushing away his tears with the back of his hand. 

"Thanks, Bulma."

"No problem, kid." Her voice was slightly constricted, but she managed a weak, sad smile. She disappeared briefly into the next room to retrieve Trunks, who thankfully had been occupied by cartoons during the entire ordeal, and soon re-emerged with the toddler strapped into a baby carrier on her back. Taking Gohan's hand in hers, she followed Vegeta out the door and onto the back patio.

"Which one of your sluggish contraptions are you taking, woman?" he asked gruffly when they joined him. He had a strange look on his face, one that Bulma couldn't quite recognize, and his gaze was fixed on Gohan.

"I thought it'd be faster if you flew me there..."

Vegeta turned sharply to face her. 

"Are you really that anxious to see them?" Vegeta asked, though his voice lacked its usual venom. 

"Please." She was staring at her shoes now, and he could tell she was trying to hide her tears. A single, crystalline drop fell from the corner of her eye to splash onto the wooden deck.

_Kami, she cries a lot!_ Vegeta scowled, his blood beginning to boil once again at whoever had placed this burden over her. Gohan soon broke into the silence.

"Can we please go now?" his voice was slightly higher than usual, and he looked as if he was struggling against another breakdown. 

Vegeta nodded once, then scooped Bulma up in his arms, careful not to accidentally squash the baby slumbering in the carrier on her back.  The small group took to the air in a flash of pale blue light, two glimmering trails lingering in the otherwise grey sky where they passed. No-one spoke, hushed into sorrowful silence, as all braced themselves for the vista of pain they knew would soon unfold before them.

* * *

The chill wind whipped mercilessly across the broken landscape as the grim party landed in the ruins of South City. The sky above churned, and though no rain fell, the icy air threatened of another storm. Bits of debris, and other objects which Bulma closed her eyes against, blew across their feet, as though even the harsh winds were trying to erase the picture of destruction sprawling before them.  The sickening stench of death and decay clung to everything despite the wind, and Bulma had to fight to keep from gagging. 

As soon as his feet touched he pavement, Gohan took off at a dead run into the midst of the rubble, flinging himself, sobbing, over Piccolo's prone body. Bulma watched the one-sided reunion through tear-filled eyes, the wind blowing her  turquoise hair across her face. She had never seen Gohan so deeply wounded from within, not even at his father's burial had she witnessed such a reaction from him. Now he lay on Piccolo's blood-caked chest, arms wrapped tightly around the Namekian's neck while salty tears dripped from the boy's closed eyes in an endless stream onto his mentor's shoulder, thick sobs shaking his small body. It was almost enough to make her turn back home.

Almost.

Retrieving a capsule from her jeans pocket, Bulma threw the device on he ground. In a puff of smoke and soft metallic whir, a jet-copter appeared where the capsule had been. Vegeta watched in slight confusion until Bulma took Trunks from the carrier on her back, placing the slumbering toddler in the 'copter on one of the lavishly cushioned seats.

"Keep sleeping, baby," she crooned, running her fingers lightly over his face and brushing a wisp of silken lavender hair off his smooth forehead. "This isn't for you to see."

Gently shutting te door so as not to wake him, Bulma straightened up, squaring her shoulders. She held a look of grim determination barely covering intense grief as though she was headed to her own death, not into the graveyard of others. With steadfast resolve, she walked slowly, ever so slowly, into the wreckage where the bodies lay.

Vegeta watched her from a distance, arms crossed. She seemed suddenly hesitant to enter that area that so reeked of death - the death of her life-long friends and companions. Her legs trembled slightly, but she held her head high, forever trying to be strong. He watched her stop, and her hands flew to her mouth. She crouched down over one of the bodies, so great was her sorrow that it poured over Vegeta's mind in waves. 

He felt every shuddering breath drawn into her body, every choked sob, every shining tear leaking out of her grief-laden eyes. Her guard had crumbled away as easily as dry sand as soon as she saw the first body, and unknowingly she re-opened the pathway of clear understanding which had once existed between them. With slight effort and another emotion he could not name, Vegeta closed his end of the link.

_It is not even my place to intrude upon her grieving._

Bulma gasped as she recognized the curled form on the cement at her feet. She felt her eyes stinging immediately, but she no longer cared about her tears. She had shed so many already, it was pointless to try and stop them now. It wouldn't make a difference anyway. She dropped to her knees, the wetness on her cheeks splashing onto the agonized, scarred face of the body before her.

"Yamucha..."

The wind stole the whisper from her lips, and she covered her face with her hands, suddenly regretting coming to this desolate plain of endless suffering. Desperately she longed to only remember him as the laughing, joking, over-protective man she had known, but the image of his corpse was now embedded firmly in her mind, with no way of erasing it. No... she had wanted to come, and she would not turn back now. She couldn't leave them here...they deserved better than this. 

Tearing off a strip of fabric from the hem of her t-shirt, she wiped her own face, dampening the material with the moisture on her cheeks. With utmost care, she gently washed the blood from her friend's face with her tears, smoothing his anguished expression into one of sedate calm. She worked slowly, softly, almost lovingly massaging away all trace of his pain. She could hear Gohan still weeping somewhere behind her, bu the sound was distant somehow, separated. She continued easing the suffering from Yamucha's face until she could almost believe he was only sleeping.  If she kept her gaze trained on his face, perhaps she wouldn't have to see the bloody hold below his chest...

When at last Yamucha held a peaceful expression, Bulma ran her fingers softly down his face, closing his eyes. 

"Rest in peace, Yamucha," she whispered, fingers lingering on the cross-shaped scar on his left cheek she used to kiss when they were dating. Gathering the now darkened cloth in her hands, she rose to her feet to continue her gruesome task. She shuddered harder now, and though her face was still calm, Vegeta could see how heavily the blow of the first body had struck her. Still, she did not stop, intent on finishing her slow, silent way of saying goodbye. 

When she came to Kuririn's body, however, Bulma's control shattered. Horror splashed openly over her features and she fled from the sight of his mangled corpse, ducking behind the crumbled wall of a nearby building where Vegeta could hear her vomiting. After a few moments she reappeared, face ashen and wet with fresh tears. 

She did not stop at any more bodies. Rather, she stepped carefully into the centre of the misshapen circle their forms made, not speaking, just standing, silent. The wind had picked up, and Vegeta could see that she was shivering with cold. He moved up behind her, raising his chi slightly to envelope her small form in the soft aura of warmth. Her head jerked around at the first brush of heat, however, and she glared savagely at him through intensely blue eyes.

"Leave me." she whispered, her tone sharp and hard as a razor, yet wavering slightly as if it too was buffeted by the growing gale. Vegeta kept her gaze for a moment, then slowly backed away. Her pain seemed to pulsate through the bitter air, and he gave her space out of respect for her suffering. 

So there she stood, alone, chin lifted bravely against the wind and the pain. Her arms hung loosely at her sides as though she did not even acknowledge the cold, and though her body quaked from the chill, still she stood there, unmoving. Her hair swirled and blew back from her face, a few pale wisps fluttering across her forehead and cheeks in a strangely beautiful way. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks though she did not utter a sound, not even the faintest whimper, standing tall and still in the midst of the bodies of her friends and defenders. In that moment, she looked more like a goddess than a mortal woman.

_Kami, she's brave..._Vegeta admitted to himself, though to his surprise his tone held no grudge or reluctance. A new respect for her was born as she stood there, silently bearing her torment - alone. 

Finally, she broke. The squared shoulders drooped, and she turned to walk back towards him, arms wrapped around her body in attempt to protect herself from the cold. When she reached him, her fair face was so burdened with hurt and heartache he scarcely recognized her.

"I...I can't move them." she choked, her voice several tones deeper from the sobs which stuck in her throat. "It doesn't seem right to bury them, after they fought so hard, just to be put in a hole in the ground...but I can't just leave them here either..." she raised her eyes in a penetrating gaze. "Would you..."

Vegeta silenced her with a wave of his hand. 

"I will see to it that they are given a warrior's departure." He sounded sickeningly gentle, almost kind...but even more strangely, he didn't care, and for once the dry voice stayed silent.

Bulma nodded her thanks, suddenly tired. The exhausting event had drained every ounce of her every ounce of strength, and she leaned against the side of the jet-copter as Vegeta retraced her steps into the ruined battlefield. He looked at her briefly, then turned to the nearest body, a ball of energy already shimmering in his palm.

Bulma issued a strangled cry at the last second and fled to the inside of the 'copter, not wanting to see as Vegeta reduced the charred bodies to ashes.

One by one, they all vanished in the ceremonial Saiyan way to bury the dead. Gusts of wind swirled among the piles of ash, stirring the soft, grey particles and lifting them in a twirling dance into the air. Vegeta turned to the last remaining body, preparing a final energy blast beneath his fingers. He was just about to fire when Gohan seemed to spring up from the rocks, shielding Piccolo's body with his own.

"NO!!" He screamed, eyes wide and frenzied. "Don't touch him! You'll hurt him!" 

Vegeta scowled, prepared to shove the messy-haired boy out of the way if necessary. Still, Gohan held his ground, though is legs shook and he gulped continually to force down the tears.

"Boy," Vegeta growled, though not quite as vehemently as normal. "Get out of the way." 

Gohan shook his head furiously, and Vegeta increased the intensity of the softly humming globe of light in his hand. 

"A warrior such as your friend should not be left to have his bones picked at by mice an birds."

His words sunk in, and Gohan's head drooped. He still did not move aside, however, but looked at Vegeta pleadingly.

"Let me do it."

Vegeta conceded, the ball of energy fading into nothingness once more. He turned back to his mate and son, leaving Gohan kneeling broken-heartedly over his mentor's body.

Vegeta rapped once on the door of the 'copter, and waited while a swollen-eyed Bulma slowly opened it.

"It is finished."

Bulma nodded, strapped Trunks once into the carrier on her back, and capsulized the 'copter.

"Take me home." she croaked bleakly. "I don't think I can fly the 'copter right now."

For once Vegeta didn't argue, and he swept her up in one motion. Neither spoke as they took to the skies, pale swirls of ash dancing through the air around them.

A few moments later, Gohan flew past them, sobbing, in a scorching blaze of golden energy, the air where he passed shimmering with heat. Bulma squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her face against Vegeta's chest, tears trickling slowly down her cheeks. 

"No more, please..." she whispered softly between quiet sobs. "No more.

A/N:  Phew, and another chapter is finished at last!! My mind has seriously shut down due to lack of sleep, so that's all for today. Oh, um, story advertising…. I'm too tired to think, I'll repost with an advertisement later. Okies? Ok.

~Mira


	5. Dread

**Disclaimer:** Disclaimer? I have nothing to disclaim!!! I OWN EVERYTHING!!! Right down to every last scar on Vegeta's sexy, sculptured bod!!! I own every dot on Kuririn's forehead!! Every line on Piccolo's muscular arms!!! Every silky lavender hair on my Studly Hunk-a-Bunk of Lavender Hottness' head!!! I OWN IT ALL!!! IT'S ALL MIIIIIIIIIIIIIINE!!!!!! *is dragged off stage by Akira Toriyama's private DBZ Ownership Enforcement Police* NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! 

Ok, ok, fine, I don't own anything. Though I DO own the Weird Spooky Disembodies Voice that torments Vegeta inside his head!!!! O wait.....I don't own that either!!! My bestest bud Tenshi Sasher seems to be strangely attracted to him, so I hereby give him to her. *sigh* Nope, I'm a pauper in the world of DBZ, it seems. 

**A/N:** Chrystaline brought an error to my attention last chapter - I said that Gohan was seven years old when the massacre occurred, when in fact he should be ten. Just to clear that up - I'll go fix that sometime in the other chapter, but as I'm to lazy at the moment, just remember that Gohan is actually ten years old, not seven. 

Thanks to everybody who's been reviewing this!!! I have so few of you guys, you faithfuls mean a lot to me!!

This chapter is dedicated to Tenshi, as her awesome, HUGE reviews are my main source of inspiration for this. Thanks, Tenshi dahlink, for all the support you're giving me on this!!! I wouldn't have gotten even this far without you!!! Thus, this chapter is dedicated to her. ^_^ 

Before I let you go on to the story, I have to show you this! It's so cool! I never realized this program had Japanese symbols on it before!! Observe: D&?8= Isn't that just the coolest thing? *grabs Trunks in a bear hug* Anyway, on to the story, since you've all been so patient with my extra bout of rambling today!!!

**Meaningless- chapter 5**

Dread

The day was still as Vegeta flew across the clear expanse of the autumn sky. Nature spoke of approaching winter, with the slight drop in temperature, frequent rains, and the sharp, clean crispness in the air. The sky was a deep, brilliant blue, void of cloud and contrasting with breathtaking beauty with the lush, colourful landscape below. Despite the change in seasons, it was still luxuriously warm, though the cold bite in the air made the morning seem somehow charged with life. 

How ironic, after the terrible loss of life which had taken place only days prior. Nature had no right to be celebrating. 

Vegeta cut through the stillness like an arrow, dark countenance scouring the rejoicing landscape like an open wound. He flew at such a speed that birds squawked and scrambled out of his way, and if he came upon a rock face in his path, he merely blasted straight through without so much as a blink of the eye.

He was scowling again. It seemed the expression had never left his face since he returned to Capsule Corp, and he didn't suspect it would be leaving anytime soon. His reunion with Bulma had been less than beneficial, to say the least. Even after they returned home from the battlefield the day before, Bulma had immediately resumed her furious, independent state the second he set her on the ground. 

Vegeta's expression darkened further, his mouth set in a hard, irritated line. 

_Bulma was the first to reach the house. She marched stiffly, though her legs still shook slightly, and it was obvoius that whatever grudges she had held against him that morning had not been forgotten. Vegeta was less than impressed - she was his Woman alright - stubborn and agonizingly willful. Usually these same traits would have produced some sense of satisfaction and pride for his mate, but now it only irked him. He had come back because of her blatant refusal to leave his mind, after all...the least she could do now would be to give him some sign that she had thought of him at least once during his absence. _

_As usual, the Voice could not resist such a tempting offer to mock him._

My, my, so the Prince has at last admitted how much he depends on his mate, has he? _The voice had become suddenly chill._ It continues to amaze me what a spoiled little brat you are. She just lost nearly everyone important to her, and all you can think about is your injured ego. Tell me, how _do_ you manage to live with yourself day after day?

_Vegeta growled low in his throat, and ignoring the ever-digging daggers of the Voice, stormed into the house after his mate. _

_Bulma was mixing herself a drink when he entered the room. He could smell the strong alcohol all the way across the room, and something in the back of his mind made him want to swat the heavy drink from her hand before it touched her lips. _

_Bulma glared viciously at him upon his entry, clutching her glass angrily with one hand and swiping at her red, swollen eyes with the other. Determination was engraved on her features, and her gaze held so much pain and anger that Vegeta found that now-familiar rage towards the Z-senshi's murderers rising once again._

_Turning her back abruptly on him, Bulma stalked rigidly to the entrance of her lab, pausing with her hand poised over the door's control panel. The look she gave him was bursting with icy warning. _

_"Don't even _think_ about bothering me," she snarled, and though she tried to keep the waver from her voice, it came through anyway. "If you think that I've forgiven you, you're sorely mistaken. The last thing I want right now is to see your face, so just leave me alone."_

_Vegeta continued to glare as she punched in the twelve-digit security code and slammed the door behind her, purposely shutting him out. He could break that door into dust if he so desired with no amount of effort whatsoever, but something held him back, and he found himself unable to do anything but stare at the spot where she had been. _

_Trunks began to cry from within the room, his resonating wail audible even through the thick door. A moment later came Bulma's voice, harsh and ragged._

_"Shut up!!" _

_With a startled jump in pitch, the baby's cries ended, replaced pitiful, sporadic sniffles and whimpers. _

_Vegeta's features contorted, and he left the room quickly. He could not stand to be in this house a moment longer - his steel nerves were perilously close to breaking. He retreated once again to the GT, training feverishly until dawn the next day when finally the knowledge that he had fallen back so easily into his old routine threatened to drive him mad. Furiously he left the GT as well . Besides, there was another issue he was anxious to find an answer to, one that involved a certain ten year old boy with impossible powers. _

_So, with one last contemptuous glance at the building where his mate still kept herself locked away, Vegeta shot into the air, a few startled birds and scattered leaves the only marks that he had ever been there. _

At last the snow-capped peak of Mt. Paoutzu came into view, and Vegeta halted in the airfor the briefest of secondsbefore charging down at a sharp angle towards the small, domestic log cabin with "Good Luck" painted carefully above the door. 

He landed jarringly on the rocky, grass-covered turf, and though the sharp jolt through his calf muscles would have produced a grin on any other occasion, his face now remained impassive. Quickly he scanned the area for Son Gohan's life force, eyes narrowing as his senses honed in on the boy's huddled form, curled up with his back against a tree.

Vegeta strode decisively over to him, his mind raging with so many demands and disbeliefs it was impossible to put a name to each one individually.

_How could he possibly be a Super Saiyan? _he demanded of himself, still refusing to register what he had witnessed only the day before. _He is but a child! I have worked, toiled, striven for this honor my whole life! I am the Prince of the Saiyan race, and he is but a half-blood! How could he be granted the power of the Legendary, while I remain unblessed? _

His steps brought him rapidly to the roots of the tree under which Gohan sat, his thoughts having driven him into such a state of bewilderment and frustration that he was barely able to keep control over his fury.

"Boy!" Vegeta snapped harshly, and Gohan jumped at his voice like a startled rabbit. He turned a tear-streaked face to the raging Saiyan, eyes dull and haunted with grief. Vegeta, however, took no notice, and dove directly to the point.

"How is it that you are able to ascend to the legendary level of Super Saiyan? Tell me now!!"

Gohan blinked and wiped the moisture from his cheeks, uncomprehending.

"What?"

Vegeta gritted his teeth in scarcely retrained impatience. 

"Don't act daft with me, boy!" he snarled, staring him down. Gohan whimpered softly under his scrutiny.

"And stop that infernal sniffling!" Vegeta commanded roughly, his control rapidly dissipating. "I have heard so much blasted snivelling in the past tow days, I think I'm going to peuk!" 

Gohan recoiled slightly in fear, though ever so slowly a hard, icy shield began to creep across his obsidian eyes. Vegeta, however, either missed or ignored the warning. 

"Answer me, boy!!" he roared, hauling Gohan to his feet by the small demi-Saiyan's rumpled collar. "You_ must_ have an answer!!!"

Gohan's face hardened considerably.

"I don't know, ok? Now just leave me alone!"

Vegeta released his grasp on the boy's shirt, but was not ready to relent just yet. 

"You don't know?" he scoffed, somewhat incredulously. "You _don't know?!? _I know of the toil and hardship many have endured in attempt to reach your level, and no-one, including myself, has ever been able to breach the gap between natural and ascended with the crude exception of your father! There is no way you can possess such power and not know how it was attained! I have seen it myself, so do not try and hide your ability. _Tell me how!!!_"

Gohan's eyes flashed, and he stumbled backward, face twisted with rage, tears of intense grief streaming over his cheeks. 

"Do you think I want it?" he shouted, and Vegeta was taken slightly aback. "You think I want to have this power? You can have it! I hate it! I don't want this stupid level!" His voice began to tremble, anger and resolve disintegrating even as he spoke. "I don't want it at all! All I want is my Dad and Piccolo!"

Vegeta's eyes narrowed, and he advanced at a deadly, unhurried pace. He spoke slowly, voice low and dangerous.

"How _dare_ you insult the legendary level of our people. Do you know how many worthy soldiers have driven themselves insane trying to achieve what you now possess?"

Suddenly, a loud, dull crash broke the menacing silence, followed by the splintering and cracking of something large and wooden. Vegeta turned his head sharply at the sound, and instantly a warning siren was set off in his mind.

Son ChiChi stood fuming on the front steps, the door having been slammed open so hard that several long, wide cracks ran up its surface and it hung crookedly on its hinges. 

ChiChi's fists were clenched at her sides, and her ace was twisted into such a mask of fury, even Vegeta had to force himself not to take a step backwards.

She was dressed in black widow's garb, her ebony hair loose and tumbling in a wiled, frenzied mass over her shoulders. The darkness of her hair and long, simple gown contrasted dramatically with her pale skin, which was white from staying hidden indoors for so long as she mourned. Her eyes blazed, and a red flush slowly spread over her fair features as her anger continued to rise.

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded shrilly, and she leapt in front of the now sobbing Gohan, spreading her arms wide in an effort to protect him.

"Don't you dare touch my son!! You hear me?"

Vegeta's left eye twitched, and he snarled through gritted teeth.

"I had no intention of touching him, woman!" he retorted gruffly, and to ChiChi's surprise his words were laced with honesty. "You know I would not."

ChiChi's rage did not lessen, but her voice dropped several octaves and she stared him down defiantly.

"Get off my property."

Vegeta stiffened. 

"No-one gives me orders," he growled. "I —" but he was cut off as ChiChi burst in.

"You're on _my_ land and _I_ give the orders here!! I don't care if you're the prince of the universe, no-one has the right to threaten my son! Now get off my property now, or mark my words , I swear I'll find some way to kill you!!"

Vegeta eased his hands out of their tight fists, though he showed no sign of leaving.

"That's interesting." he stated calmly. "I thought you would have had quite enough death for the time being."

ChiChi began to tremble, and red flames of energy began to lick hungrily at her limbs, making her look almost devilish in her black clothing and flashing dark eyes.

"How dare you..." she hissed, then her voice rapidly began to rise. "You have no right to say anything!! First you abandon my best friend and your own son, and make her cry and mourn over you on top of losing one of her closest friends! Then you sit around on your spoiled Royal behind while everyone we care about is slaughtered! Finally you come crawling back here, and now you have the audacity to torment my son?!? Get out! GET OUT!!!!"

A chilling silence followed, after which Vegeta growled menacingly,

"I do not take orders from anyone." The next instant he was gone.

Just before he blasted into the air, ChiChi caught something, something in his eye that startled her. What was it? Regret? Remorse? ...grief? Whatever it was that had tinged the prince's hardened features, ChiChi found her firm and utter hatred of the man dissolving. It seemed that there were some things Bulma didn't know about...she would have to pay hr a visit sometime soon.

* * *

Bulma typed furiously, punching the keys of her computer with triple the force needed to activate them. She had cried for hours, and when at last she had exhausted all her tears, the anguish had turned to anger. She welcomed the change - it was much more satisfying to be livid than to cry her eyes out, and she had been doing the latter far too much lately.

She really should have known better. Vegeta hadn't changed one bit, and he probably never would. Nothing was any better than the way it was before - the same arguments, the same heated tempers...even the process of their bickering was the same. They would both shout and vie to gain the upper hand, resulting in a standoff of icy glares and crossed arms. 

What pained her more, however, was the fact that their relationship was rocky as ever it was; if it even existed at all anymore, that is. Bulma sighed. Weren't hard times supposed to bring people closer together? She snorted.

_I guess not._

She drained the last bit of liquid still in her glass, adding it to the several empty glasses already littering the desktop. She wondered bitterly if things would ever change between them.

Vegeta would begin to soften ever so slightly, start to make her believe that he cared. She had almost dared to hope that he really loved her when he had shown such respect on the battlefield, and the gentle way in which he cradled her as he carried her home...but as always, her hopes proved to be false. The moment died, and he retreated back to his infernal gravity chamber, shutting her out. Nothing had changed.

But then again, there had to be something there...as he carried her, through her tears she had felt the same tenderness, the same cautious way in which he held her, as if she were made of delicately wrought glass. She could remember that same feeling as she would lie back against him late at night, his arms encircling her with such protectiveness and possessive care...how could anyone possibly make her feel like that if their feelings weren't mutual?

_Stop it._ She told herself firmly._ You're only going to make it harder. _It didn't matter what he felt or did not feel; she had made a vow that she would never forgive him for the deaths of her friends, and she would remain faithful to that vow, even if it meant the end of any happiness she may ever have had with him. They died because he hid - nothing he could ever do would be enough to make things right again. 

"Yamucha...Kuririn..." she felt the sobs begin to rise up, and angrily she forced them back. "I'll never forgive him for what he's done to you." Her voice was barely a whisper, and she bowed her head with closed eyes, swearing her oath to those who died. 

"Never."

Her insides twisted as she said it, and a lone, crystal drop trailed down her cheek, but she had made her decision. Nothing would move her from it,

He made her so angry! That certainly hadn't changed either. He knew every trick, ever expression, sneer, smirk, and comment that would set her off. He had even gone so far as to make her yell at her own son, and that in itself was unforgivable. She would never forget the look of betrayal that haunted her baby's cerulean eyes as she screamed at him, nor the four, hurtful words which came from his mouth as he curled up defensively in a corner while she typed.

_Mommy mean like Daddy._

Bulma clenched her jaw. She was NOT like him - she wasn't a murderer. 

* * *

Vegeta rapped once on the door to Bulma's lab. When no answer came, he raised his hand again, but instead of knocking, he prepared a small energy blast and blew the door into a misshapen heap of half-melted steel.

Bulma whirled on her computer chair and stared at the remains of the door in incredulous anger.

"What do you think you're doing?" she screeched, jumping up to examine the ruined doorway. "I told you to leave me alone!"

Vegeta did not retreat, but instead grabbed her chin in one hand and forced her to look at him. Bulma's eyes blazed, and she wrenched her chin from his grasp roughly.

"Get your hands off me, you vermin!" she spat, and began readying herself for his undoubtedly scathing reply.

"Who killed the others and destroyed South City? Does anyone know?"

The question took Bulma by surprise, but she recovered herself quickly. With a murderous, accusing glare, she hissed, 

"You did."

Vegeta's temper flared, and he fought to keep it from bursting outward. Nevertheless, a short roar of impatience erupted from his throat, and blue flames danced over his skin.

"WOMAN!!" he bellowed, voice so filled with severity that Bulma was jolted out of her obstinate state. "Tell me now!!" 

Bulma's glare did not waver and she crossed her arms, but she answered. Her voice was cold and bitter, as if sending deadly venom towards those of which she spoke. 

"Two _jinzouningen._ They arrived out of nowhere and attacked the city for no apparent reason. They were the ones who killed everyone..." Her eyes suddenly flashed. "But I still hold you responsible for their deaths!!"

Vegeta snarled, then turned sharply on his heel and marched determinedly away. Only then did Bulma notice that he was clad in his old, beaten Saiyan armour. Unexpectedly, a fear suddenly awoke within her, and she ran to stand in front of him. Vegeta stopped, though his entire being radiated impatience.

"Where are you going?"

Vegeta glanced out the window quickly, restless to make his departure.

"I felt a large number of civilian life forces suddenly die from one location. The rate of death keeps increasing, all in the same city. I was baffled that I could not feel any large powers capable of such a massacre, but your information has presented that solution at least. It must be the _jinzouningen _once again - they have shown this kind of destructive power before, and being artificial, they have no life force."

He suddenly glared at her.

"Are you going to let me pass, woman? I believe you howled at me that I did not fight in the last battle, so if don't _mind_," he sneered, sarcasm dripping thickly from every syllable, "I'll be leaving to do so now."

Without waiting for an answer, Vegeta brushed past her, ran out onto the porch, and took off into the air with such speed that not even a trail of access energy remained in the sky behind him. Bulma ran to the open window and screamed angrily at the place in the sky where he last had been.

"I hope you die!!"

This time, however, she could not bear to wait alone at home, waiting for news, as she had been forced to do before. There was only one thing which she could think to do - picking up her slumbering son, she jogged out onto the lawn and climbed into her jet copter. A few moments later, she too disappeared beyond the clouds. 

* * *

"He just makes me so mad, ChiChi!" Bulma burst out finally after recounting all events since Vegeta's return. Once again she sat across from her friend in the Son household, a place which had become a refuge for her over the past months.

"I'd almost convinced myself that things might get better now that he's back, but I was just fooling myself. He's just the same as always. It's hard to believe I fell for him in the first place."

Something inside her twisted savagely as she spoke, and once again Bulma found herself angrily fighting back tears. He hadn't changed - and that was what hurt. He was the very same man he had been when she so foolishly fell in love with him, yet now they were distanced more than they had ever been.

Quite suddenly, ChiChi began to laugh. Bulma bristled slightly in defense and indignation as re raven-haired companion continued to extol her private mirth. She crossed her arms in a now habitual defensive manner.

"Would you care to enlighten me on just what is so outrageously funny?"she asked, a little more acidly than she had intended. ChiChi stopped laughing, though the corners of her mouth still twitched upwards. Bulma raised a coldly inquisitive brow. "Well?"

ChiChi locked sparkling eyes with her friend and shook her head in wonder.

"Honestly, Bulma, are you blind?" Though she still chuckled, the question was direct. Bulma looked rather injured. 

ChiChi sat forward and clasped Bulma's hands in her own, her expression one of a knowing mother, even though she was the younger of the two.

"Bulma," she began simply, face serious. "Think about it. Would someone as proud and selfish as Vegeta have put himself in such a vulnerable position and come back here if he didn't love you?"

Bulma pulled her hands from ChiChi's grasp and sat back against the couch, eyes distant with deep-set remorse.

"I'd be surprised if he's even capable of that now."

ChiChi threw up her hands in exasperation.

"Bulma, for crying out loud! You're acting like a teenager! Will you stop denying the obvious already?"

The blue haired woman looked sharply at her friend, but her expression was pained. She sighed defeatedly.

"I wish I could believe you, ChiChi, I really do..." she said softly, lowering her gaze to the floor and picking absently at the skin around one thumbnail. A faint glimmer of moisture glittered in the corner of her eye. "But I just can't anymore." She raised her face, the single tear sliding silently down her ivory cheek.

"When I was standing out there among the bodies -" she choked on the words, but swallowed and forced herself to continue. "I don't know exactly what happened, but somehow I re-opened the link we used to share. I think that I was hurting so badly, I needed someone to lean on, and I subconsciously reached out to him, out of old habit, most likely. When I felt him linked to me again, I can't explain it. It just felt...wonderful. Even as my eyes took in the carnage at my feet, I felt so safe with him there, so close to me, like we used to be."

Her expression suddenly hardened, and she jerked her gaze away, sapphire eyes glinting with pain glazed over by cold, emotionless ice.

"But he shut it off." Her voice was crisp and completely void of any hint to her current feelings. "Even as I welcomed the link, he closed it. I felt him shut me out, I felt his mind close itself to mine." Another tear escaped. 

"Do you see now, ChiChi? He doesn't want to be with me anymore. I know you're only trying to help, and that's very sweet of you, but it hurts when you try to convince me and I already know the real truth."

A somewhat stunned silence followed, both women unmoving. ChiChi's gaze was fixed on Bulma, while hers on the ground. Finally, the younger woman broke the silence. 

"Look, I don't know what happened that day, and I'm not going to pretend that I understand everything that happens between you." Bulma flicked her eyes at her friend as a moment, and ChiChi firmly held her gaze.

"But I do know this: Something about Vegeta has changed since he left you. I saw it when he came here earlier today...whether you accept it or not, he feels more for you than you seem to think. Even he can't completely ignore everything that's been happening lately...I think he needs you just as much as you need him. Vegeta's more human than you give him credit for."

Bulma's gaze became inquisitive. 

"What are you so forgiving of him all of a sudden?" she queried, her head cocked to one side in curiosity. Her hair fell across her neck and one shoulder in a silken turquoise wave, and she tucked it automatically behind her ear. "I thought you hated him."

ChiChi smiled and looked out the window, face assuming that regretful, distant expression which had become so common on her features since her husband's death.

"I suppose because I've learned the hard way not to hold back from people. There were so many things I wish I had told Goku, but I held back for too long, and now I'll never get the chance. I was always too hard on him - I thought I was protecting him by demanding he stay home all the time. I wish I could change all of that now, but it's too late. And now with everyone joining him up there...it makes you realize how pointless all of this hostility and these old grudges are. Losing so many people who were close to me has made me want to give everyone a second chance - even someone as 

unpleasant as Vegeta."

Bulma felt her resolve crumbling away as she looked at her friend. ChiChi was stronger than she had ever imagined - the calm way in which she spoke, and though her charcoal eyes glistened with moisture, no tears fell. It made Bulma feel more like a foolish schoolgirl than ever as she took in the calm acceptance in which ChiChi lived her grief-stricken life.

But even that did not last. Ever so slowly, the cold determination crept over Bulma's face, hardening her features into an icy facade. When she spoke, her voice once again reverberated with that emotionless tone.

"I know you're right, but it won't change anything. Whether he feels for me or not, it doesn't matter. I swore I would never forgive him for letting our friends die, and I have no intention of breaking that oath."

ChiChi's head snapped around suddenly, and she stared at her friend incredulously, eyes wide and blazing with both fire and tears. The mask which had been in place throughout their entire visit fell away, and Bulma saw for the first time that day just how deeply her friend was grieving. Abruptly, ChiChi stood up and strode quickly out of the room. Bulma watched in surprise, suddenly overwhelmed by the notion that she had said something very, very wrong. 

Leaving Trunks slumbering peacefully on the couch protected by pillows, she cautiously followed her fuming companion.

She found ChiChi in the kitchen, furiously scrubbing dishes that were already clean. Not one item came into her hands, however, without shattering within seconds in the woman's angry grip. Shards of glass cut into her hands, but she did not stop or reduce her frenzied pace, the soapy water slowly tainting a pale crimson as she worked.

Bulma lay a tentative hand on her shoulder.

"ChiChi, did I say —"

Her words were cut off as the widow spun around, eyes ablaze. In her hands she clutched a large glass which miraculously was still in one piece.

"Do you have any idea just how fortunate you are?" she demanded, voice rising in volume on every word. Bulma jumped backwards in shock - she had seen ChiChi angry before, and it was always a scary sight to behold, but never like this, and certainly never directed at her. 

"Do you know what I would give to have Goku back in my arms again? Maybe I didn't know Kuririn and Yamucha as long or as well as you did, but I'm suffering every bit as much as you are, believe me! You think it didn't hurt me when they died? You are so _blessed_, Bulma!! You have a man that you love and who loves you back whom you can turn to when things like this happen, and you're too blasted stubborn to let yourself lean on him!"

The glass had long since shattered, and both ChiChi's bloody fists were clenched. 

"I would _kill_ to be in your place, and to have my Goku home safe where he belongs! I've lost the only man I've ever loved or will love, and I'm not going to let the same thing happen to you when it's still preventable! For once in your life for Kami's sake, Bulma, stop being so SELFISH!!"

ChiChi whirled sharply back to the sink, though this time all she could do was lean wearily against it, nursing her injured hands as if she was only noticing now how badly they were cut. 

Bulma stood rooted to the spot, stunned into silence by ChiChi's outburst. Only the ears streaming from her eyes betrayed the impression that she very well may have been a statue. Slowly - nervously - she approached her grieving friend, cautiously making tentative eye contact.

"I'm sorry."

With a broken sob, ChiChi turned and enveloped Bulma in a tight hug. The other woman sighed with heart-felt relief and returned the embrace, not caring that ChiChi's hands were most likely soiling the back of her shirt with blood as they both wept. 

They remained so for several minutes, reinforcing and strengthening their friendship as they shared unspoken but mutual sorrows. At last, ChiChi pulled away and looked Bulma squarely in the eye. 

"I think you should know that Vegeta wouldn't have been able to save them anyway." she toned softly. "He's not responsible for their deaths, only the Androids are. Gohan told me that when Piccolo was killed, he reached a new level of power, one that dwarfed Vegeta's strength, and still he was no match for the _jinzouningen_. He only survived because they chose to spare him and wait until he'd grown older." She looked at Bulma with knowing compassion.

"You see? Had Vegeta been there, we would have lost him, too."

Bulma smiled through her tears, wiping the moisture from her cheeks. She opened her mouth to say something, when suddenly her expression changed to one of horror.

"Oh no..." she whispered hoarsely. "On NO!!"

ChiChi watched in confusion as Bulma fled from the room, already throwing on her jacket. 

"Will you watch Trunks for me a while? I have to go somewhere..." her voice was shaking, and her normally so confident blue eyes were wild with fear like a nervous young horse. ChiChi ran into the living room just as her friend was bolting for the door.

"Bulma, what's going on?" she demanded, more concerned than confused by now.

The turquoise-haired woman paused, one hand frozen on the doorknob, face contorted with fear and dread combined. The single word which came in a whisper from her lips explained everything in one dreadful heartbeat;

"Vegeta."

~~*~~

A/N: Phew!!! Sorry this chapter took so long to get posted, and that it's so short!!! I promise the next chapter will be action, as this one was mainly dialogue, and I apologize for that, too. 'Till then, though, bye byes!!


	6. Desperation

Disclaimer: *looks at sleep patterns of the past few weeks* Nope, too tired. No intelligent disclaimers today. *posts a CLOSED sign on the door* Goodbye! Come back next chapter! You all know I own nothing anyway. =P

A/N: PHEW!!!! This chapter seemed to take even LONGER than usual.... how horrid. (This means we're even again for owing reviews, Tenshi!!! *is attacked with yogurt*) Anyway, if I ever needed feedback, it's now more than ever. Action scenes, I have found, are surprisingly difficult....thus I need all the help I can get. =P  Anyway, my apologies to all those who have been waiting for this chapter (which unfortunately for me isn't very many, but o well!! It makes me feel important to say it, lol), I'll TRY not to take so long with the next one.... keyword being 'try'..... *sweatdrop*

*snickers* I discovered the most interesting thing scribbled in the margins of my notebook as I was typing this chapter up... I must have written part of this chappie on a Wednesday night, because the margin was positively FILLED with death threats towards my music theory teacher, whose lessons are on Wednesdays. *stifles cruel laughter* It was really quite a good threat, too...I was quite proud of it when I found it....I must have been REALLY mad when I wrote it down, that's for sure!! Lol... 

Ooh, I was SO annoyed at my computer's formatting on the last chapter!! The nonsensical combination of numbers, letters, and symbols was ORIGINALLY the Japanese characters for Torankusu....but do you think the proper formatting would show up? Nooooooo!!!!! Thanks to Tenshi, though, for pointing the stupid error out to me....... =P

Lastly, but certainly not least, this chapter is dedicated to one of my newest friends, Jordan. His review for the last chapter came on a day when I was feeling even lower than usual, and his review brought me up out of my depression. So, thank you Jordan! Thus, this chapter is dedicated to you.

**Meaningless - chapter 6**

Desperation

The bright autumn day had been transformed into something out of a twisted nightmare. The once intensely blue skies were shrouded with menacing columns of thickly rising black smoke, which billowed upwards without so much as a hint of ceasing. The very air seemed to shrink away from the burning city in fear, and dread hung as heavily in the air as the ominous clouds of sulfurous smoke.

Vegeta flew with blinding speed towards the city under attack. With each passing second he felt more lives vanish, but they did not concern him. All that mattered was that the _jinzouningen _were still there when he arrived, so he could vent the full power of his wrath upon them. The lives still remaining in the city were dwindling, and Vegeta increased his pace still further in his anxiousness to catch his prey.

Just as his patience was at the point of breaking, Vegeta caught sight of the distant metropolitan area, slightly hazy on the horizon. As the distance to his destination  decreased, he was able to pick out the similarities to the South City disaster, even if this area was not yet at that extreme state.

Buildings were cracked and broken, several had collapsed or caved in, causing even more damage to the surrounding streets. Dust rose in thick clouds from the many disturbances, and bright globes of energy erupted throughout the crumbling city. As he drew nearer, the determined Saiyan could hear the terrified screams of the _jinzouningen_'s victims 

A thirsty sneer twisted the Prince's aristocratic features. Soon those loathsome Androids who had staked their claim on HIS planet would be writhing in agony at his hands...should he choose to allow them to live that long. A vivid image of Bulma's tear-streaked face and swollen eyes flashed through his mind and Vegeta's expression darkened. He would definitely make them suffer before they were granted the blessing of death. 

There were no more screams now. 

The explosions had reduced to about half of their previous frequency, and seemed to be coming from the same approximate location. Vegeta flew towards that spot, landing soundlessly on a small surface of cracked, but otherwise still intact, pavement.

When the dust cleared, Vegeta's brows shot up in surprise and mild confusion. Before him were two young people - practically children. A blonde girl sat casually on the broken curb, the epitome of boredom etched upon her delicate features. Nearby, a thin boy was blasting debris and wreckage by the use of energy attacks with one hand.

The warrior's frown deepened. _These_ were the _jinzouningen_?!? The ones responsible for the massacre of South City, the incredible forces with enough power to annihilate all of Chikyuu's strongest defenders effortlessly? It couldn't possibly be them...not these underage, skinny youths with no air of battle experience whatsoever. Yet the strange absence of ki in their bodies and the energy shooting from the black-haired one's hand clearly suggested otherwise. 

Abruptly, Vegeta began to laugh. It began low and deep in his throat, then burst from him to resound through the stifling air with surprising volume. Both _jinzouningen_ jumped, though their initial surprise was soon replaced by cool, bemused observation.

Vegeta stepped towards them, sneering.

"_You_ are the Androids?!?" he scoffed, the mocking in his words so thick one could almost walk on it. The blonde raised an eyebrow, but Vegeta ignored the warning and continued. "The supposedly unbeatable foes? Forgive me if somehow I'm not quaking in my boots!"

Eighteen surveyed Vegeta's feet critically.

"You should be." she commented dryly. "They certainly aren't very stylish."

Vegeta was about to retort when Seventeen flew lightly down from his perch atop a pile of crashed vehicles and eyed the skeptical Prince up and down. His own expression was identical to that of the Saiyan's and his eyes glittered wickedly.

"So." he stated simply. "We finally meet the elusive Vegeta. Ready to join your friends, are you?"

Vegeta snorted. 

"Hardly."

Seventeen returned the gaze with equal confidence. 

"Well," he stated flatly, though his mouth twitched upwards in a cruel smile. "Perhaps we can change your mind."

The Saiyan's smirk faded, and he glared dangerously at the other male, growling.

"If I were in your situation, Android, I would not be so confident as to be making jokes. This time it is your turn to experience the meaning of pain."

Seventeen blinked disbelievingly a few times, then abruptly burst into uproarious laughter. Turning his back to the fuming prince, he walked, shaking, back to his sister, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. 

"My, my!!" he exclaimed, still laughing. "The files said he was arrogant, but even I didn't expect THIS!" He gestured widely in Vegeta's direction. "I think our friend here could make a fortune as a comedian! You'd better take him, Eighteen! I'm going to be laughing a while yet!"

Vegeta watched in outrage as the male _jinzouningen_ nearly rolled with hilarity, and felt his blood begin to boil.

_How DARE he!! _Vegeta expostulated inwardly. _Does he not realize what he is up against? And how do they know my identity? _

Vegeta shook his head, pushing the distracting thoughts to the back of his mind as battle sense took over. If he was going to punish the _jinzouningen_ thoroughly, he would need his concentration to be complete. 

Vegeta spat at Eighteen's feet and smirked.

"I hope you know what you're getting into, for your sake." he jeered. "You may have defeated the others, and for that I give you _some_ credit, but you cannot hope to survive against one of the strongest fighting races in the universe!" His eyes flashed in challenge. "Come, Android! Try your might against the Prince of the Saiyans!"

Eighteen merely raised an infuriatingly unimpressed eyebrow. 

"Very nice speech, Vegeta, but do you suppose we could get on with it? I don't have all day, you know."

The black haired warrior snarled. There was not even the slightest hint of fear in her voice! Did she truly believe she was that powerful, or was she just plain stupid? Once again, Vegeta forcefully pulled himself out of his thoughts and fixed Eighteen with a dark glare. 

"Tin can! I can annihilate entire planets with only a fraction of my power! You are ignorant beyond belief not to fear me!"

Eighteen waved her hand impatiently in front of his face.

"Yes, Vegeta, we all know the story. Honestly, at this rate you'll have worn yourself out with talking before we even begin!"

Vegeta scowled, somewhat in perplexity.

"Tell me, Android!" he snapped, "How is it that you know so much about me?" His eyes were narrowed in suspicious inquiry.

The blonde girl rolled her eyes, obviously bored and patience fast deteriorating. She raised one finger to her head, tapping her temple in explanation.

"They're called data-banks, little man. I know everything about you - power, battle history, attacks, strategies - and believe me, after analyzing all of this, I'm not in the least bit worried."

She suddenly smiled, somehow turning something that would normally be of beauty into a look so malicious it would send chills down one's spine if they so much as glanced at her. Her eyes were cold as ice, and glittered hungrily.

"You've already made a fatal mistake, Vegeta." she said softly, voice dangerously lilting. "You've made me bored of you before I even let you have the first hit." She grinned wider and flicked a strand of hair out of her eye. "Let's put that mouth of yours where it belongs."

With that, the cyborg launched her slender body forward, catching the Saiyan by surprise, her fist connecting solidly with his mouth. Vegeta was flung backwards, body impacting roughly with the concrete wall of a building. It was as he staggered  to his feet amongst shards of concrete and glass, thick red liquid oozing in warm, sticky trickles from his cracked lips and Eighteen's laughter drifting down to him that the prince's arrogant self-confidence began to disintegrate.

* * *

The jet-copter was agonizingly slow. Bulma barely stopped herself from pounding her fists on the keys in frustration, though even if she were on the fastest transport in the world (which, truth be told, wasn't much faster than her own model anyway) she doubted even it would satisfy her desperation to reach Vegeta's side.

The atmosphere in the 'copter was stifling. Although the interior censors closely monitored the vehicle's constant temperature to maintain its pleasantness and the ventilation systems were of the very highest quality, Bulma was sure she would suffocate before she was even able to pinpoint Vegeta's location. Her stomach churned with worry, and she continually dabbed at her forehead with her sleeve to keep the beads of cold sweat from her eyes. 

"Come on, Vegeta!" she half-growled, face set in concentration. "Give me a sign, here!" His barrier over their mind-link was still firmly in place, so she could not follow the pull of their bond to where he was. It was absolutely infuriating - if he was keeping the shield up to prevent her from coming near the Androids and endangering herself, she would personally strangle him if he lived through the battle.

Bulma's heated expression fell as the grim reality of the situation took hold once again. She found herself reverting to glaring at the control panel of the 'copter; every second in this race against death was vital, and the blasted machine felt like it was hardly moving! Grinding her teeth with impatience, the young woman clenched both hands on the steering controls, forcing herself not to smash some crucial compartment in anger.

A red light began to flash on the dashboard in front of her, and Bulma's heart dropped into her stomach like a stone. The automatic, computerized voice which filled the cockpit a moment later confirmed the fears she had hoped to credit to bad eyesight. 

"Warning: Vehicle is low on fuel. Approximately ten minutes of flight time left."

Bulma swore fluently and swerved sharply downward, angling the now useless jet-copter towards a clear patch of ground.

"Blast it!" she burst out, pounding her fist into the little red light. "I don't have time for this!!"

* * *

Vegeta wiped blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of one gloved hand, glaring at the pleasantly smiling woman before him. 

"You know," she stated in a tone that could have been called conversational had it not ben for the underlying ripple of cruelty, "That's the third time you've wiped your mouth in the last twelve minutes. You're going to have some nasty stains on your gloves at this rate. You really shouldn't wear white into a battle."

Vegeta snarled and charged, though not to his surprise the cyborg easily sidestepped his attack. His brow furrowed darkly in frustration and an enraged growl escaped his lips as yet another well-aimed punch passed harmlessly through the air, far from its intended target. 

_How can this be possible? _Vegeta demanded of himself, still raining attacks upon his untouchable opponent. Sweat dripped into his eyes, stinging, and he could taste bitter blood in his mouth. _How can they possibly have such power? Why, they must be even more powerful than Frieza! But... that's impossible! Kakkarot defeated that imbecile, and he is but a third-class! So why can't I land a single punch?_

The furious warrior bunched his muscles, than twisted his body in a precise roundhouse motion, one leg extended. In the second before his shin connected with Eighteen's neck, however, the Android caught his ankle in one hand with uncanny ease. The next instant, Vegeta found himself hurtling downward headfirst, and though he tried to focus his energy to stop himself, he could do nothing even to slow his speed. 

Harsh, biting jolts of pain shot in jagged paths through his protesting body as a broken facade of a building finally interrupted his downward flight. Sheets of concrete cracked and crumbled around him, and the Saiyan was sharply aware of the unnatural angle at which his right arm hung. He swore violently under his breath, clutching the broken appendage as he staggered to his feet among the rocks, biting back the urge to give in to the pain.

Eighteen's laughter floated down, though it was now joined by that of her brother's as well. Seventeen regarded the wounded warrior disdainfully.

"I'd say he's had enough playing around by now," Seventeen chuckled to his twin. "What do you say we get serious now?"

Eighteen smiled and shrugged, and in an instant too fast even to register, the two _jinzouningen_ faded out of view, their twin smirks the last thing Vegeta saw before they reappeared, Seventeen's fist lodged in his lurching abdomen.

The Saiyan's eyes widened with the shock of the blow, and a fountain of hot, crimson blood spurted from his open mouth, splattering on the Android's amused face. Even as he tried to move, Vegeta felt Eighteen's doubled hands smashing into the small of his back, sending him once more into the ground.

If he had thought Eighteen a formidable opponent on her own, it was nothing to that of the combined movements of both _jinzouningen_. 

_Kick in the stomach, flying backwards out of control..._

The pair moved as one, their motions perfectly in tune to one another, as if sharing the same mind in two bodies.

_Hand grabbing his hair, stopping his flight..._

They moved with agility so fluid it seemed they were made of something less than flesh, liquid....

_Knee slamming into his face while he hung immobile..._

They almost seemed to be part of the air itself, phasing in and out of view so rapidly they became no more than a blur of vicious and frighteningly accurate attacks, with the occasional glimpse of a cold smile or laugh before fading once again from view. All trace of their previous scornful, almost joking manner had vanished, replaced by cold, deadly efficiency.

_Feeling the bones in his nose shatter, sharp pain shooting through his head like a dagger had been thrust into the flesh as hot liquid poured down his face..._

But then even as his body was pummeled, tossed between his attackers like a rag doll, bones cracking, a new sensation began to creep in under his skin, small at first but gaining momentum with stupendous speed. A twisted grin lit Vegeta's chiseled features. The _jinzouningen _thought they were breaking him, and physically this was certainly true...but beyond the Androids' awareness, a new thrill was in fact beginning to flood his being, revitalizing, uplifting him.

_He had found his drive._

It surprised him that he had not realized it earlier, it seemed so obvious now. They had killed the warriors of this planet, and now showed strength far beyond his own. Avenging the Z senshi did not particularly interest Vegeta, but no one, _no one_ made a fool out of a Saiyan Prince and lived to tell the tale, and for that they would be punished. The Androids were for the moment far stronger, but this would only give him a goal, something to work for, strive for, as he once had for Kakkarot. H would survive, and he would train - oh, he would train - and by his hands the Androids would die. 

With a surge of elation, Vegeta took this oath, allowing it to fill his body and lift him upwards. An al most insane smile touched his lips as he threw his head back, the earth beneath his feet beginning to quake as newfound power began to pulse  through his limbs like fire.

The _jinzouningen_ stepped back, watching in scarcely veiled curiosity as Vegeta's power shot upwards.

Tiny flickers became a raging aura, garnet red and blazing upwards from his skin like hungry flames on dry wood. Already broken chunks of concrete were driven into the air by he waves of rising energy, heat radiating from the flames to waver in the thick air. Coal black hair took on a reddish hue, making it appear streaked with blood and bathing the Saiyan Prince in an unearthly, sooty red glow. Vegeta embraced the change, letting the fire course through his veins and beneath his skin, ready for him to use; power so great that even he had difficulty harnessing it.

Slowly, veins protruding in his neck, Vegeta lowered his head until he was once again looking the Androids eye to eye. His expression was set with determination, and he raised one hand level with his face, powering up a small energy blast, then catching it in his fist. His lips twisted into an almost devilish smile.

"You just used up your last lifeline, filth." he sneered. "If I do not defeat you today, I will the next time we meet, and if not then, the next time. Your fates have been decided in this moment, Androids...you will die, and you will do so at the hands of a Super Saiyan!"

With that, he uncurled his fingers, his other arm still hanging uselessly at his side, releasing the energy still contained in his palm in a spectacular, blazing sphere of deep scarlet light, and hurled the deadly weapon at the somewhat taken-aback cyborgs. 

Even as the shining globe descended upon them, however, tainting their cruel faces in an eerie shade of pale red, not the slightest hint of fear touched the _jinzouningen_s' flawless features. His hair blown back from his face by the force of the approaching blast, Seventeen turned to his sister, a bemused, yet terrifying smile tugging at his thin mouth.

"Super Saiyan, eh?" he snorted disgustedly. "We'll just have to teach him a lesson about that."

And then the blast was upon them, breaking into millions of droplets of light as it shattered against their unmoving frames.  As one, the _jinzouningen _turned to the disbelieving Saiyan before them, identical sneers twisting their lips.

* * *

Capsules littered the ground as Bulma searched frantically through the stranded jet-copter's many storage compartments. The burden of time was pressing in on her from all sides, and she could feel the precious minutes slipping past her without having to look at her watch as her searches continued to end in nothing.

"Come on, you stupid thing!" she said through gritted teeth, her slightly wild appearance voicing her exasperation on its own. "Where are you?"

Bulma grasped the headrest of one of the leather seats, forcing herself to calm down. She wasn't getting anywhere - literally - by panicking. Using all the self-control she could gather, she wracked her brain for an answer. 

_Alright, Bulma, use that genius mind of yours. Ok.....I always carry an air car with me in case of emergencies. It's not with the rest of the capsules, or in any of the storage compartments. Where else could it be? Darn it! I've searched this thing from carpet to ceiling tiles! WHERE IS IT??_

Infuriated and desperate, Bulma's fist closed over the nearest object - an empty soda bottle in this case - and she hurled it at the far wall of the vehicle. Somehow, hearing the glass shatter brought a twinge of satisfaction, and her mind cleared of its frantic circulations for a moment. Bulma thrust her hands into her jacket front pocket while she thought - and her fingers touched a smooth, cool, cylindrical object. 

With a cry of triumph, she withdrew the capsule and leapt from the open door of the 'copter. A moment later, the much needed air car was hovering in front of her, and gratefully Bulma jumped into the driver's seat, starting the ignition before she was even fully in the car. Within a few seconds she was speeding away from the abandoned jet-copter, foot pressed to the floor, biting her bottom lip in apprehension.

_Hang in there, Vegeta. I'm coming._

* * *

Despair. The utterness of it swept over him like a wave as he watched his powerful blast splinter into nothingness, without so much as a raised hand from either of his opponents. All though of counter-attack deserted him, and Vegeta began moving on defensive auto-pilot as the Androids began their final round of vicious, synchronized attacks.

_How can they have such strength? Their bodies are not even build to withstand such capabilities! How can they defeat me? I am a Super Saiyan! Aren't I?_

Vegeta half growled, half yelled as Eighteen effortlessly broke through his hasty defenses, smashing her leg into his chest. For the umpteenth time that afternoon, Vegeta felt himself plummeting, but no knees met his back in mid flight, no hands grabbed his hair to stop the fall. He collided instead with solid ground, the impact jarring every bone in his body. He tried to rise, but his muscles, it seemed, were yet another enemy to him now. With a wet, hacking cough, blood spouted from his mouth and onto his cracked armour. 

The faint _whoosh_ of air marked the _jinzouningen_s' landing. His vision was hazy and blurred, but he could still make out the form of the male Android as it walked casually up to him, placing one foot almost nonchalantly on his chest.

Vegeta snarled, but could do no more than spit his own blood at his attacker. It was infuriating, lying there, unable to defend himself - but his body was spent. He could not move. 

"How...?" His voice was hoarse and gritty, and more foul-tasting liquid rose up in his throat, causing him to cough and gasp for air as he spoke. 

Seventeen merely laughed. 

"It seems to me, you have a remarkable knack for losing. According to this," he tapped his forehead with his index finger, "you couldn't beat Frieza, lost to a fellow monkey two warrior classes below you, and now you're going to die without ever becoming your precious 'super saiyan'. Just full of failure, aren't we?"

Vegeta's eyes mirrored the disbelief and denial that Seventeen had been aiming for. 

"I AM... a Super...Saiyan..." he croaked, clenching his teeth at how weak he sounded. Seventeen's harsh laughter cut into his pounding head like a knife.

"You honestly think that? A comedian to the end!! About the only thing you're good at is dying - you're giving a much better show than any of the others...though some had some pretty impressive screams. As for this ridiculous Super Saiyan business, hate to break it to ya, but you're not. You never will be."  Slowly, deliberately, he began grinding his heel into Vegeta's already shattered breastbone. 

"You're a failure, Vegeta. You always have been, and you're going to die as one. Normally I'd let you live with that knowledge, but the truth is," he ground his heel in deeper, grinning as Vegeta cried out hoarsely, more blood spattering the corners of his mouth. "You annoy me." He dug in his heel a final time, delighting in the sickening _crack!_ of bone and the prince's resulting scream, then stepped back.

Eighteen joined her brother before the fallen warrior, and together they prepared one last energy ball in their entwined hands, white-hot and aimed with lethal accuracy. Vegeta heard the male's final, scornful words to him as the globe closed in, felling his vision and burning his skin with its intense heat.

"Goodbye, Prince. See you in Hell."

* * *

Bulma slammed her foot on the brake pedal as a familiar window was wrenched open in her mind. What entered through it, however, nearly caused her to close it again in a panic. Indescribable pain ripped through her senses with savage brutality, tearing through her veins and under her skin like livid fire. She stared in horror at her unmarred skin, even as she felt it burn and peel away from the bone. She opened her mouth to scream in anguish, but all that emerged from her throat was a rasping gasp of agony.

She clutched at her head, grasping sweat-soaked strands of hair tightly in her fingers. She knew what the sudden assault meant - Vegeta had re-opened their mind-link, and the pain she felt was his. Gulping air into her burning lungs, she fought back the pain threatening to drive her into madness, instead focusing all her attention on the one really under attack. 

"Blast it, Vegeta! Where are you?" she hissed through clenched teeth. Gathering her will, she was able to partially close the link between them just enough to block out the pain, but still keep their minds connected to each other. Her own head now free of that terrible burning, she bent her thoughts to finding her fallen lover...

Painstakingly, gently, she probed into Vegeta's mind, searching for any clue as to his whereabouts. Closing her eyes, she allowed him to provide her with his own vision. 

_Her gaze was blurry. the borders of her vision shrouded by hungry darkness patiently waiting for its chance to gain dominance. One eye was swollen so badly she could not even open it, and the other stung as hot, sticky blood dripped into it from a deep cut just above her brow. The stench of her own burned flesh assaulted her nostrils, and everything around her was broken or shattered completely. Someone lifted her chin roughly with the toe of their boot, and cruel laughter bombarded her hearing, thought the sound was distant, unclear. The laughter changed to words._

_"He's dead. Let's get out of here, shall we? He smells."_

_The toe digging into her chin was removed, he head slamming painfully into the pavement. The voices took to the air, that bitter laughter the last thing remaining behind. Slowly, the darkness crept forward, closing over her senses like a deathly curtain._

At that moment, Vegeta's mind began to whirl, racing at dizzying speeds through countless thoughts and memories, dragging Bulma's mind along with it. Bulma watched helplessly as Vegeta's memories flashed before him, a sure sign that his last moments were fast draining away.

Her mind spun as the images flew by. King Vegeta, smiling proudly down at his son standing beside him. Frieza, laughing while he kicked the small, beaten prince on the tiled floor of a massive spaceship in a pool of dark blood. Two words, "stupid monkey..." jeered in her mind even as the image was whipped away to replaced by the next.

Goku - Kakkarot - smiling, then laughing, as he remained elusively one step beyond Vegeta's reach. Then his cheerful face becoming obscured, covered gently with soil as he lay stiff and cold in the hard, unforgiving earth. Dead.

Next came a wild flurry of thoughts and emotions so swift Bulma felt sick with nausea. In the midst of the turmoil, however, one image remained clear, one solitary beacon amidst a life of pain, torment, and confusion.

Bulma. She found herself staring into an image of herself, which quickly became a series of connected memories which Vegeta's mind lingered over, cherishing. The warm, sweet fragrance of her hair....the soft touch of her skin against his... the intense blue of her eyes...her fiery temper, and the way here eyes blazed when she was angry. The faintest sensation of comfort shone through Vegeta's dimming thoughts as her image stayed in his mind, reassuring. Then finally, that too vanished. 

Bulma gasped and jerked herself back into her own being as she felt Vegeta's life fading rapidly. A stream of vulgarities  and curses flowed forcefully from her lips as she pounded the steering wheel of the air car.

"Darn it, can't you move any faster?"

The window was shrinking.

"Vegeta, don't give up on me now!" she pleaded aloud, desperately trying to follow that fading awareness to its location before it disappeared completely. "You can't leave me now, not you too!"

Panic closed its cold hand over hr as the window shrank to near non-existence. Vegeta's mind had become too faint to follow, and soon would be gone entirely, and still she had not found him. She needed something stronger to follow, and she needed it fast. 

Bulma gritted her teeth, bracing herself for the only thing left which could possibly help her find the dying warrior.  With a hiss of pain, she released what constraints she still held over the mind link, allowing all the pain from Vegeta's physical injuries to wash over her in recurring waves of agony. Hot tears pricked at her eyes as her body screamed in protest, and her breathing became laboured as she gasped between spasms, willing herself not to cry out from the intense torture. Still, even as the fire tore through her body, she welcomed that pain. It was the only thing still strong enough to lead her to Vegeta's side.

* * *

After what seemed like endless eternities, the air car skidded to a stop on yet another shattered battlefield. Bulma threw open the door and leapt from the vehicle, flying over the wreckage, stumbling frantically over stones and debris. Finally, she caught sight of a familiar armour-clad form — he wasn't moving.

With a strangled sob, she flung herself over Vegeta's broken, twisted body. He clung to life by a frighteningly slim thread,  and that could be severed at any moment. Slowly, with obvious pain, Vegeta turned to look at her, his one still open eye roving her features as if it was the first time he had ever seen her. Bulma cupped his battered face tenderly in both hands, tears dripping from her eyes onto his cheeks.

"You stupid, stupid idiot!" she sobbed, caressing his cheekbones with her fingertips. "Why do you have to be so blasted stubborn?" 

Another sob rose in her throat, but before it could escape, emotion surged and she covered Vegeta's mouth with her own, pouring all of her fears, wantings, and passion into one hopeless, desperate kiss. She felt Vegeta move slightly beneath her, trying to return it, but his strength was too far gone. They remained that way, time frozen in a fearful, yet delirious moment when all else seemed to disappear. It was only the two of the, not the _jinzouningen_, not the pain, not this crumbling world  — only them, locked in a desperate merging of emotion, the salty taste of blood and tears mingling on their cheeks. 

Suddenly Vegeta spasmed, and fearfully, Bulma pulled hastily away.

"Just hang in there, Vegeta! I'll get you to the best hospital in the country! You're going to be ok, just don't let go yet! Stay with me!"

Vegeta opened his mouth, though no words emerged through his moving lips. His onyx eyes, no longer alert, burned with  frustration as his body refused to co-operate, and his words remained unspoken.

Bulma placed a finger over his dry lips, shaking her head tearfully as her throat tightened with dread.

"Don't try and talk!" she commanded him, though her voice wavered, and she clasped his gloved hand tightly. "You need all your strength right now. Stay with me, you understand? I'm going to call for help."

Bulma leant forward and kissed him again, but gently this time, fearful of hurting him. She lingered over him a moment longer, her lips brushing over his cracked jawbone, one tear slipping down her cheek to drop onto his blood-caked skin.

"Don't leave me now..." she whispered, pleadingly, against him.

When she pulled away, the faintest of smiles touched Vegeta's lips. His hand tightened ever so slightly over hers, and Bulma's heart hammered within her chest in fear as his eyes slowly closed. 

Her breath stopped as Vegeta's head fell limply to one side. She clasped his unmoving hand in both of hers, holding it trembling to her. Her whole body began to shake, eyes wide with horror, mouth open.

"Vegeta..." she whispered, tears beginning to seep from the corners of her eyes once again. "Wake up! Please, wake up!" Her grip on his still fingers tightened and her voice became suddenly hysterical. "PLEASE!" She raised her anguished, tear streaked face to the unsympathetic sky. 

"Vegeta!!"

Her scream lingered on the heavy air, filling it with its deep-rooted sorrow and overwhelming sensation of loss.

"It's not FAIR!!"

Her spirit broken, Bulma collapsed over his still form, wrapping her arms about his ashen neck as sobs wracked her body.

"You can't...not now..." The tears poured from her closed eyes in an unstoppable rush. "I told you not to leave me..."

A chill wind swept over the shattered landscape, lifting thin clouds of dust, ash, and heartache into the bitter air. The woeful  cry of a solitary mourning dove echoed through the battlefield as the small, vulnerable form of a woman clung brokenly to the still body of a once proud Saiyan Prince. Her hair tousled in the death-scented wind, her slender frame shaking uncontrollably as she was consumed by an endless storm of weeping.

~~*~~

ACK!! *ducks under heavy barrage of rotten fruit from angry reviewers* You didn't think I'd do that, did you? *more fruit, with some assorted vegetables this time* Don't leave yet, though! I promise, the story isn't NEAR done, and this may not be exactly what you think!! *grins at befuddled expressions of readers* Guess you'll have to wait for the next chappie to find out, ne? *is promptly attacked by more food, now including moldy Jello and pudding cups* You're free to flame me now!!! *runs out of the room covered in smelly food*


	7. Turn of the Tide

Disclaimer: No, I don't own DB/Z/GT, but come this fall, I will have a life-size mural of either my studly-hunk-a-bunk of lavender hottness or his spandex clad daddy on my wall..... oh, how sweet it is....   
  
A/N: Alas, I now only have my home computer to use, not the school's, so I'm reduced to no italics anymore. So, reluctantly, I go back to the old drill..... thoughts are identified by ~these~. Ah, the tragic woes of those without Microsoft Word.....  
  
Note to reviewer "mpvssj5" - actually, in the present timeline, Vegeta didn't go Super Saiyan until he left for space the second time, shortly after Trunks' birth. He did not transform while looking for Goku in space after the Frieza Saga, as when he came back and Trunks showed up and diced Frieza into lunchmeat, Vegeta was outraged that someone so young has reached what he couldn't, and you have lots of nice angsty moments of him struggling to reach Super Saiyan. As this is the mirai timeline, Vegeta would not be Super Saiyan as of yet. In the present time, he knew the jinzouningen were coming, therefore he trained heavily in order to prepare and Super Saiyan was reached. In this timeline, however, he obviously had no idea that the jinzouningen were coming, thus there would be no build up in training to lead to Super Saiyan. Plus, Vegeta's final transformation has a special place in this story's plot which hasn't come into play yet. Just to clear things up.  
  
Last but not least, this chapter is dedicated to my bud and fellow VALL member, SnowEyes. Your review came at a time when I wasn't getting any new ones, so it really lifted me up. My ego shot straight through the roof, I swear... plaster and shingles all over the place...   
  
Anyway, enough blather, on with the chapter! My apologies for keeping you all in suspense.... *tries to look honest but can't help sniggering evilly*  
  
Meaningless - chapter 7  
  
The Turn of the Tide  
  
Darkness. It hovered over him, watching, waiting, looking for the perfect moment to consume him. It dimmed his senses and robbed him of coherent thought, and though he tried to fight it, the darkness kept coming. He feared that blackness more than anything, and cowardice was not exactly a familiar emotion to him. Yet that slowly advancing darkness was driving him to desperation.  
  
He didn't want to die. Not here, not now. Not when he had finally found something to sustain him again. He had been to Hell before, and he did not want to go back there. He wanted to scream, shout, fight....anything to ward off that formidable darkness that claimed more of him with each passing second.   
  
He was losing, and he couldn't stop it. He has lost Kakkarot to a virus, lost his honor to the jinzouningen, lost his mate to his stubborn idiocy, and now he was losing to his own body. With all the strength that remained in him he fought; fought to survive, to protect, to fulfill the new meaning he at last had found instead of letting himself fail once again.  
  
Dimly, he could hear someone screaming- Bulma. Why was she still crying? He wasn't dead! He was alive! Vegeta tried to say something, but he couldn't seem to form the words.   
  
~I am a prince! I refuse to die like this! Stop crying, I'm alive! I'm not dead! I am not that weak!~  
  
Had she always been this beautiful? She seemed so desirable to him, now that he was fading. She was sobbing, but the tears only caused her eyes to burn with an even more intense blue than he remembered. He wanted to reach up and touch her smooth, wet cheek, but his arm would not move, and his eyes closed in frustration. He tried to claw his way out of the darkness, but found he couldn't even open his eyes anymore. He was slipping.  
  
And then came salvation, but it wasn't a light in the distance, or a soothing voice. His came in the form of sudden excruciating pain as something large - and heavy - flung itself over his already shattered breastbone. It hurt.  
  
* * *  
  
Bulma buried her face in her hands as her body shook with sobs. The harsh wind whipped past her, chilling her to the bone, and she clutched her arms, shivering. She kept her eyes closed, not in an effort to subdue the tears, but because she could not bear to see him so lifeless, so cold. She didn't want to remember him like this, broken and defeated. She wanted to run, to shut herself away from the pain, away from loss and death and agony. Yet still she stayed amidst the tears, unable to leave her fallen prince's side.  
  
"I was too late..."  
  
The wind snatched he whispered words the second they left her lips, carried over the rubble and drowned into silence by the growing gale. Tears drying in the freezing air, she lowered herself onto his broken body, resting her head on his chest as if he was only sleeping. She could almost feel his arms encircling her, protecting her, if she just ignored the cold which lingered in their rightful place. He was fine, only sleeping...everything was just as it should be, just as long as she never woke up...  
  
Bulma jerked backwards with a start as Vegeta let out a low groan of agony. Hope surged, and she just stopped herself from throwing herself on him and kissing him again in her sudden elation.  
  
Desperately, she fumbled in her sweater pockets, fingers clumsy both with anxiousness and stiffness from the cold. At last she fell upon her cell phone, and dialed emergency with shaking hands.   
  
The phone was ringing as she ran her fingers over his cheekbones, hope hammering in her chest with each heartbeat. She leaned down and kissed him gently, praying that he stayed with her just a little longer.   
  
"Help's coming, Vegeta! You've almost made it, just keep hanging in there!" She rested her hand reassuringly on his arm, and though renewed hope flickered within her, the same cold, acute fear lurked just outside her thoughts, waiting.  
  
* * *  
  
The desk clerk at West City Private Hospital was becoming impatient. The person on the other line was amazingly stubborn, and had he not been required to maintain a businesslike hospitality, he would have hung up on her long ago. As it was, he was growing tired of arguing. Covering the mouthpiece with his palm he turned to the nurse also working behind the front desk.  
  
"Can you take this call? I've tried to get through to this woman, but she's insisting that we bring an ambulance to Amber City."  
  
The nurse's looked up from her paperwork, slightly surprised.  
  
"Isn't that the city the Androids just attacked?"  
  
The clerk merely handed her the phone. The nurse's eyebrows shot up as she put the receiver to her ear and she winced visibly. Assuming her most patient, explanatory voice, she began trying to reason.  
  
"Ma'am," she said calmly. "hospital policy does not allow emergency vehicles to Android destruction zones until at least two hours after the initial attack." She waited while the caller responded heatedly, obviously unimpressed with the argument. The nurse sighed exasperatedly and pushed strands of dark purple hair from her eyes with her free hand.   
  
"I understand the situation is critical, but at this time it is far too hazardous to dispatch rescue vehicles to the area. If we send an ambulance too early, the jinzouningen may still be on the premises and that would prove fatal for those on the rescue team." She paused again, now irritated by the woman's lack of respect for authority.   
  
"No I don't know who you are!" she snapped, her mask of politeness fast deteriorating. "Frankly ma'am, you could be Bulma Briefs for all I care, we cannot dispatch those vehicles at this time!"  
  
A barrage of shouts from the woman on the other end of the line ensued, and all colour rapidly drained from the nurse's face.   
  
"Oh...Miss Briefs! I...I didn't know! I apologize, and we will send a helicopter and ambulances as soon as the full two hours have passed, but —" She was cut off again by the angry voice on the phone, and finally, defeat took over her weakening expression.   
  
"Very well, Miss Briefs. If you are willing to be so generous, I'm sure we can return the favour."   
  
The clerk stared at the purple-haired nurse in disbelief. He snatched the phone back and slammed it onto the desk.  
  
"What do you think you're DOING?!?" he burst out, face livid. "One famous name and you crumble? You have just endangered the lives of several emergency paramedics!"  
  
The nurse returned his glare with an equal vengeance, though her face was still pale.   
  
"Bulma Briefs has just promised the hospital a donation of three million zeni if we save the life of a survivor she's found. She has also threatened to remove all Capsule Corp. funding from the project to add the new ICU wing should we not comply to her demands. I suggest we do what she wants."  
  
The clerk paled, then flushed, than blanched again. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly a few times before he finally regained control.   
  
"I'll alert a helicopter."  
  
* * *  
  
Bulma hung up the phone with a small exclamation of triumph and grabbed Vegeta's hand exuberantly, though carful not to jar him.   
  
"Did you hear that, Vegeta? They're sending help! You're safe now! I —" She stopped suddenly, and her body froze.  
  
Even through the glove, Vegeta's hand was cold as ice.   
  
This time, however, it was not weeping and desperation which took over. Bulma's brow creased in a frown, and her eyes flashed in angry obstinance.  
  
"Oh no you don't!" she growled, glaring at the Saiyan's multiple wounds and waxy, grey skin covered in cold sweat. "Not this time - we're too close to winning!"   
  
Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the ever-shrinking window which bound them. She was met with a dense, impenetrable black wall. Gritting her teeth in determination, she focused her attention on that barrier and pushed.  
  
Nothing happened. More than just angry now, Bulma gathered her confidence and tried again, harder this time. Still nothing. Even with all her brilliance and years as an advanced scientist, she could come up with no solution as to how to help him. If only there was a way to give him some of her own energy...she knew she didn't have much, but if it could be enough to sustain him until the paramedics arrived...she knew Piccolo had been known to do such a thing in the past. If only she knew how to do it! Frustrated, she rested her forehead against Vegeta's as she thought.  
  
The sensation, when it came, was abrupt and very strange. It was as if someone had suddenly taken her breath directly from her lungs and thrown it to the wind. Bulma sat upright, her head swimming with dizziness. As she regained her breath, something caught her eye, making her blink in confusion.   
  
Was her mind playing tricks on her? Or had a tiny touch of colour returned to Vegeta's ashen face? Her hope reinforced, Bulma pressed her palm against his forehead and closed her eyes, trying to reproduce the exact thoughts and emotions she had felt a second ago.   
  
It took a moment, but finally it worked. With a wave of exultation she felt the sensation return, and as energy drained from her body, Vegeta's cold, clammy skin began to warm beneath her fingers. He was still unconscious as Bulma removed her hand and gasped for breath, physically exhausted, but he was no longer on the brink, and that was all that mattered. Now all there was left to do, was wait.  
  
* * *  
  
Laughter. Not the delighted, silver quality of genuine mirth, but harsh, cruel mocking. It surrounded him, pressing in on all sides, suffocating. Vegeta struggled to find his way back to the surface, to get out of that cesspool of disdain, but the more he fought, the more they laughed.   
  
The jinzouningen. Unbeatable, yet so foolish in their behaviour they disgraced the honorary title of warrior. They were like a pair of lions, constantly hunting him down. They beat him, tormented him, tore the hope from his being before it even arose. They humiliated him, and took perverse pleasure in doing so.   
  
The strangest fact of it all was how quickly the jinzouningen had taken over him. Kakkarot had ruled his thoughts and ambitions for countless years, yet he had been shunted aside when these two monsters arrived. Now, the third class Saiyan who had haunted his dreams so small a time ago almost seemed to be on his side, encouraging him through his subconscious to defeat the Androids and complete what he had been denied the chance to try. Kakkarot was not here to play hero this time - he was depending on Vegeta.  
  
The Saiyan prince laughed, a deep, rough sound in the blackness in which he drifted. Kakkarot, depending on him? It was an satisfying (and certainly amusing) thought. But when had he ever done anything for that imbecile, and why should he start now?  
  
Suddenly, he could see the jinzouningen and their annoyingly confident smirks hovering above him in the darkness. As they turned, two other figures became visible through the mist.   
  
His wife and son. They were vulnerable, defenseless. Bulma held Trunks to her protectively, and the baby cried as he struggled to run away. The Androids cast one brief look over their shoulders at the frozen prince, the cold, entertained malice glittering in their eyes speaking wordlessly for what they were about to do.   
  
Vegeta stood rooted to the spot, unable to move as the jinzounengen closed in on them. Bulma turned once to look at him, her sapphire eyes wide with fear, hands white as she clutched their son in her arms.  
  
And then they were upon her. Vegeta watched though blurred vision as the jinzouningen killed her without mercy or remorse. He watched her body crumple, lying broken in a mangled heap of pale skin, turquoise hair, and red splashes which shouldn't be there. Trunks wailed from where he lay trapped beneath his mother's body. The male cyborg kicked her corpse over, exposing her terrified, still face, colourless save the spatters of deep crimson around her mouth. Picking up the squalling baby by one ankle, Seventeen turned to Vegeta, dangling his son on in the air, daring him to attack.   
  
With a scream of outrage and pure, unadulterated fury, Vegeta sprang forward, shaking free the last invisible bindings which had kept him from saving Bulma's fragile life. Even as he closed his fist around Seventeen's throat, however, the Android laughed and disappeared, fading back into view several feet away where he tossed Trunks like a rag doll to his sister, who caught baby in one hand by his head.   
  
Vegeta snarled and turned on her, charging with one fist cocked. He burned with hatred for the jinzouningen now, wanting nothing more than to hear their tortured screams as he killed them, just as they had murdered Bulma. Out of the corner of his eye, Vegeta could see her pale, twisted corpse, and it fueled his anger to overflowing. Shouting promises of damnation, he closed in on Eighteen, but she too vanished before he could reach her.   
  
Frenzied now, Vegeta spun....  
  
...just in time to see the sneering android crush his toddler's tiny skull in her fist. Vegeta's chest heaved with rage and shock as his son's blood splashed onto his hands. His body frozen once more, he watched uselessly as Eighteen walked calmly across the floor, dumping Trunks' body on top of that of his mother's. The jinzouningen turned to the stricken warrior, smirked, and vanished.   
  
Vegeta stood, fists clenched and breathing laboured as he stared unseeing at the bloody heap that was his wife and son. Red haze clouded his vision as rage filled him, a fury so great that his body began to tremble, unable to contain it all. Searing orange flames erupted all around him, and his power shot upwards in a roaring pillar of swirling fire, but he did not feel it. All he knew was the two things now burned into the depth of his being; hate, and loss.   
  
* * *  
  
Vegeta coughed and jerked awake. Immediately he shut his eyes again - the light in the room was painfully bright, and his head throbbed.   
  
~Light? Room? ~  
  
He opened his eyes slowly, carefully adjusting to the brightness, and blinked a few times to clear his vision. Sure enough, the neat walls, expensive furniture, and tall windows were all there - he was in Bulma's room. Vegeta found himself exhaling a breath he didn't realize he had been holding.   
  
~ I was only hallucinating... how pathetic. ~  
  
A cool hand passed over his forehead, and Vegeta turned to see Bulma, surprised that he had not felt her ki from the beginning. Her hair was pulled back from her face in a loose ponytail, and her fair features lit with a smile - something he had not sen for what seemed like eternity.   
  
"You're finally awake, I see." she grinned, though she searched his expression silently fro any sign of discomfort.   
  
Vegeta grunted and tried to sit up, but found that none of his limbs would move. Startled, he craned his neck to examine his battered body. His face took on a mixture of horror and disgust at what he saw.   
  
"Kami, woman! Is there a single inch of me not covered in plaster?!?"  
  
Bulma laughed and leaned forward.  
  
"Yes." she said simply, then kissed him firmly on the mouth. "There."  
  
Vegeta attempted to look angry, but couldn't keep one corner of his mouth from tugging upwards ever so slightly. However, he still surveyed his legions of casts with obvious distaste.   
  
"This is ridiculous. With all the technology available to you, can't you think of ANY method of healing beyond these primitive means? And you call yourself a genius."  
  
Bulma snorted. "Your sarcasm is unscathed, I see."   
  
"I look like a cotton ball!" He bellowed, struggling to free himself of the plaster. Bulma shook her head adamantly.  
  
"Nonsense," she declared reassuringly. "You look like a marshmallow."   
  
Vegeta glowered. "Why am I in here?" he demanded, abruptly changing the subject. "I thought you threw a fit every time a speck of grime or blood got on your precious satin sheets."   
  
"Your injuries were cleaned and bandaged beforehand, thank you very much!" Bulma huffed indignantly. "I had to get you out of the hospital anyway. A few times you started to come to, and when you did, I was told you terrorized the hospital staff. I believe you bit a nurse who was only trying to clean a cut on your chin, and you spit in the lead doctor's face when he was checking your condition.   
  
Vegeta chuckled meanly.   
  
"Besides," Bulma continued. "I thought you'd feel better waking up here."  
  
Vegeta smirked, earning a raised eyebrow from his partner.  
  
"Meaning you couldn't wait to get me back in your bed again."  
  
Bulma stuck out her tongue at him and replied airily, "I don't hear you complaining!" before standing up and stretching.   
  
"Well," she said lightly. "Since you're obviously feeling better, I'll go fix you something to eat. I'd expect you're starving." She grinned somewhat maliciously and flicked her finger several times over his lips, making infantile noises.   
  
"Looks like I'll have to feed another little baby besides Trunks today!" she cooed in the voice she used when playing with her son when he was but a few months old.   
  
Vegeta glared venomously as she tickled his chin and left the room, laughing. He was very much relieved when she returned to spoonfeed him a thick, creamy soup - he had been half certain she was going to bring him baby food.   
  
* * *  
  
~~THREE WEEKS LATER~~  
  
Rain pattered softly on the windows, making the lavishly furnished rooms of Capsule Corporation seem even more comfortable than usual. Vegeta pulled a black T-shirt over his head, shaking out his limbs and flexing his stiff muscles. Lying in bed uselessly for three endless weeks confined in plaster casts had seemed more like intense torture than recuperation. He had felt each individual second as they ticked steadily past, valuable training time forever lost to him. Now, at last, he was fully healed.   
  
He met Bulma halfway down the hallway. She was clothed in a fuzzy pink bathrobe, her feet stuffed into ridiculously fluffy white slippers, and her wet hair was wrapped in a towel. She yawned as she passed him and poked one finger idly on his arm.   
  
"Wait for me in the kitchen," she said, stifling another yawn. "I want to talk to you." Vegeta kept walking.  
  
"It can wait. I'm going to train."   
  
Bulma whirled, he towel sliding from atop her head in the process, her wet mass of deep aqua hair tumbling messily over one shoulder.  
  
"You've GOT to be kidding me!" she screeched. Vegeta glanced disdainfully over his shoulder, wincing at her high pitched tone.   
  
"Why do you ask me to restate the obvious?" he stated flatly. "I am the only person alive with any hope of defeating the jinzouningen. If I want to have any advantage, I'll have to train during very spare minute and more." He stopped and arched one black brow. "Do you want me to beat them or not?"  
  
Bulma strode over to him, pushing on his back and steering him towards the kitchen.   
  
"Not when you're barely healed, no! I refuse to have all my hard nursing work undone by one day of pushing yourself too hard. There are eggs, bacon, toast, and sausages on the table - eat them. I'll be down in a few minutes, and if you leave on me before I get there, there will be hell to pay."  
  
She marched back up the hall in her best businesslike stride, and even though he was impatient, Vegeta had to grin inwardly. His mood soon darkened, however, as he sat down at the table, cramming food angrily into his mouth.  
  
He had fought like a mere amateur! Forgetting the weight of advantage and disadvantage, taking luck for granted, and disregarding his opponents' superior strength in one small moment of exhilaration. He had let his guard fall, and allowed himself to believe in a hopeless dream rather than actual fact. Such neglect of efficiency had nearly gotten him killed...he had not performed so badly since his childhood.   
  
Vegeta growled, draining a carton of orange juice. Super Saiyan. Ha! How could he have been so ignorant? One surge of power and he immediately assumed he had transformed. Such mistakes were unforgivable... he should have known the difference, and yet he played right into the jinzouningen's hands. It infuriated him that he was capable of such childish errors.   
  
Bulma entered the room then, still wearing her bathrobe and slippers, though her hair had been neatly combed and blow-dried. Vegeta glanced up at her briefly before returning to scowl into his food.  
  
"I see you're in a pleasant mood today," she commented dryly as she prepared a cup of coffee. Her voice sounded somewhat colder than usual - he had most likely offended her somehow when he said he was going to train immediately. But then again, what had she been expecting?  
  
"Bulma," he said suddenly, taking her slightly by surprise. "When I left for battle, you wanted me to die. Something obviously happened to change your mind; I want to know what."  
  
Bulma looked somewhat lost at what to say.  
  
"I just realized I'd made a mistake, that's all." she said cautiously, bringing her gaze up to meet his. "Luckily, it wasn't too late to make it right again."  
  
Miraculously, Vegeta remained silent. Bulma boosted herself up onto the counter-top, holding on to the edge of the marble and swinging her legs slightly. She seemed to have mostly lost her previous hostility.   
  
"Now it's my turn to ask the questions." she stated, staring directly at him. "When you went into battle that day, you must have known they were stronger...why did you go through with it?"  
  
Vegeta shot her a dark glare, and Bulma correctly surmised that she had struck a sore spot. To her surprise, however, Vegeta answered.  
  
"I underestimated them." he spat, voice sharp and laden with self loathing. "For that, I more than deserved the beating I received."  
  
Bulma frowned indignantly.  
  
"That's not true!" she argued. "Everyone underestimated them! You managed to do something that none of the others were able to do — you fought, and you survived. I don't pretend to know much about fighting, but that alone should label you as a worthy warrior, don't you think?"  
  
Vegeta leapt up from the table, knocking over his chair and rattling the dishes. Bulma pushed herself a few inches backwards on the counter as white energy crackled and sparked off him.   
  
"I was a fool!" he shouted, fists brought up at his sides. "A true warrior never judges his opponent so superficially! I deserved to die!!"   
  
Bulma stepped lightly down from her perch to look him squarely in the eye. As much as rage consumed him, Vegeta found himself unable to tear himself from her cerulean gaze.   
  
"Listen to me, Vegeta." she commanded firmly. "I don't know what you consider good fighting tactics or behaviour or whatever. All I know is that you lived through a battle which very well should have killed you, and that alone counts for a heck of a lot in my books, even if it doesn't in yours. You survived, and to me, that's all that matters. If you still want to beat yourself up about it, go ahead, but at least remember that."  
  
She turned back to her coffee, and Vegeta was left standing in a swirling tide of mixed emotions. He was angry at the jinzouningen, furious with himself, disappointed that he had not reached Super Saiyan after all....and confused. Finally, his body took over for him. He found himself walking over to her, placing his hands on her shoulders, turning her around to face him.  
  
Bulma regarded him steadily for a moment, then brought his head down to hers and kissed him softly. As he felt her begin to pull away, however, Vegeta moved suddenly forward, backing her up against the counter, placing a hand behind her hand and pressing her lips forcefully against his. She responded immediately, wrapping her arms around his muscular neck and entwining her fingers in his dark hair, pulling his face even closer. All the ferocity bottled inside him was released in that moment, and Vegeta locked his other arm around her shoulders, refusing to let her go. He had been denied her for so long - now the feel of her awakened in him a desire which shot through him like electricity, and while the back of his mind cursed his ability to need anything so badly, the rest of him surrendered completely to the kiss.   
  
Eventually, the need for oxygen forced them to break apart. Vegeta twisted her silky hair around his fingers, still holding her against his chest, when a sudden thought occurred to him.  
  
"Woman,", he said abruptly, and she pulled back slightly to meet his eye, curious. "Where are your infernal parents? I haven't seen them at all."  
  
Bulma's mouth quirked up into a sly smile, and her eyes danced. "They left on a three month cruise a couple weeks before you cam back. They're probably enjoying martini's and crab on crackers out on some sunny deck right now."  
  
Vegeta grinned at her response, raising one obviously suggestive eyebrow and flicking his gaze towards the stairs. Bulma slapped him lightly on the chest and tried to move away, but his hold around her shoulders was like iron. Not that she was complaining.   
  
"Vegeta!" she hissed, feeling her cheeks heat up as if she was a teenager again. "It's early morning! Trunks will be awake soon, and —"  
  
"And," Vegeta interrupted bluntly, "Seven months is a very, very long time."   
  
Bulma drew herself up huffily as best she could while still caught in his arms , replying that THAT was HIS fault, not hers, but she could not keep her expression from mirroring Vegeta's for more than a moment.   
  
"You know what?" she said finally. "I think you're right."  
  
~~*~~  
  
No, the next chapter will NOT be lemon. I do NOT write that kind of thing, so if that's what you're looking for, you'd better look somewhere else. I leave it up to your own imaginations as to what they're going to be doing in between chapters. *snickers* This is my least favourite chapter, just because I couldn't fill it with angst like some of the others, but I think after the last chapter, this story needed a break from action. I'm sorry this one jumped around so much. However, what would have happened during the time lapses would be monotonous and not very interesting or helpful to the plot had I written it down, so I feel that even this excessive jumping around is the best way to go in this instance. To all my TZW buddies, look! I even incorporated Maria's bodycast fic challenge into this chapter, and I didn't even mean to! Bwa ha ha!!   
  
~Mira 


	8. New Life, Old Tears

Disclaimer: Yup. I am the proud owner of Dragonball Z. Akira Toriyama is just a funky name behind my genius mind….it is all mind!!! BWA HA HA HA HA!!! That's why I waste my time posting free fan fiction on a free website instead of making more money off my anime creation. Yupperz, DBZ is mine alright. 

A/N: Hey guys, sorry for the wait! It took me a while to get this chapter started, since I've been absolutely ITCHING to write chapter 9, not this one. I tried to make this chapter a little more light hearted - the rest of them were so much darker I think the story needs a chance to breathe a bit. This chapter takes place about a week after the last one left off. 

****

Meaningless - chapter 8

New Life and Old Tears

"That is the ugliest thing I have ever seen in my life."

Bulma glared at the amused Saiyan sprawled in a nearby armchair and continued stringing crimped paper streamers over lampshades and picture frames. An oversized, hand-crafted banner bearing the words "_Happy 1st Birthday, Trunks!!_" hung somewhat lopsidedly over the room's large main window, and various packaged party decorations were scattered over the floor, couch, and table. 

Vegeta snorted as yet another streamer fluttered down to the ground, earning a hands-on-hips scowl from Bulma.

"Alright, you!" she snapped, though her voice held no real malice. "If you're going to be so full of hot air, put it to good use!" She tossed an unopened package of balloons into his lap and tapped her fingers on her arm expectantly. "Well? What are you waiting for? Blow them up!"

The Saiyan Prince eyed the balloons disdainfully, then shrugged. 

"If you say so."

The bag alighted in a small _poof!_ of smoke and ashes as Vegeta briefly flared his energy aura, dark eyes reflecting the tiny flicker of flame before it too died. 

Bulma screeched in exasperation and flung another pack at Vegeta's head, wrinkling her nose against the foul odour of burned rubber. 

"You know perfectly well what I meant! Do it right this time, you stinker, or there will be no happy "after party celebration" for YOU!" 

The warrior glowered, but obediently ripped open the bag and blew forcefully into one of the balloons - causing it to explode quite theatrically in his face. It took a total of 0.2 seconds for Bulma's high pitched, hysterical laughter to fill the room. 

"You should have seen your expression!!" she howled, blissfully oblivious to the venomous looks shooting at her from across the room. She clutched her sides and collapsed onto the sofa. "If only I had a camera!!"

She continued to cackle as Vegeta slumped defensively into the chair, arms folded tightly over his chest and brows furrowed. 

"Oh shut up…" he mumbled, stealing quick, dark glances at her seemingly incapacitated form. 

Bulma pressed a hand over her mouth, though her eyes still danced with mirth. Picking her way through the wide maze of party accessories, she walked over to the disgruntled Saiyan and settled herself into his lap, hands clasped behind his neck. Vegeta feigned annoyance and refused to make eye-contact, but Bulma saw straight through the mask.

"Aw, did the widdle balloon hurt the poor baby's face?" She grinned almost devilishly and leaned in close to him. "Maybe I should kiss it better…"

Vegeta mouth twitched into a smirk, and he encircled her small waist in his arms.

"If you refer to me as an infant even once more, I'll kill you."

Bulma smirked back at him, but otherwise seemed to ignore the threat. 

"I'll take that as a yes." she whispered against his cheek; then gave a quick peck on the Saiyan's nose and sat upright again. 

Vegeta stared incredulously at her for a moment, then glared as her peals of laughter once again assaulted his hearing. 

"While you find that highly amusing," he growled menacingly, tightening his hold about her waist, "I happen to _despise_ jokes." He drew her in even closer, noting with satisfaction that she had ceased laughing. "Now pay up." 

"Hey, just watch who you're commanding , Mr. Princey-pants." she retorted hotly. "I don't remember ever taking orders from you!" She poked his forhead with one finger on the last word, and was about to give in to the kiss when her stomach suddenly turned a somersault. Vegeta's eyes snapped open in surprised irritation as the deceiver jerked away from him and fled from the room.

"Woman!" he bellowed, leaping to his feet and storming after her. "I hope for your sake that you don't think you're being funny!!" The wet sound of heavy vomiting from the bathroom answered him. 

When Vegeta appeared at the doorframe of the yellow-decorated room, Bulma was kneeling in front of the toilet, holding her hair at the nape of her neck with one hand. Her face was pale, and she wiped at the corners of her mouth with toilet paper before looking at him.

"Sorry…I must have caught the bug that's going around. I'm going to go lie down for a bit; try not to blow up any more party décor, okay?" She cocked her head curiously as Vegeta's eyes suddenly narrowed in suspicion. "What?"

The Saiyan Prince stared pointedly at her abdomen, making Bulma slightly nervous under his unexplained scrutiny. A moment later his gaze rolled up to the ceiling. 

"What a surprise," he snorted, jabbing his thumb at the turquoise-haired woman's stomach. "Another brat."

***

ChiChi sighed and brushed a stray wisp of hair back into its bun. She examined the dress laid out on the bed critically, smoothing the fabric, fingering the fem and seams. Bulma had said to dress up for Trunks' party to make it more fun. It had been so long since she had dressed up for anything…or had the occasion to, for that matter. 

She held the dress against her body and stood before the mirror, surveying her reflection. It was a simple design, but the material was lighter than her usual attire, and was colored a pale sea foam. It would feel strange to wear something other than her black widow clothing, but perhaps it was time to stop mourning…

That seemed to drain the last drop of energy from her body. Slumping onto the bed, she buried her face in her hands, digging thin fingers into her scalp. Breath shuddered in her dry throat, and almost automatically, tears began to trickle down ivory cheeks onto her palms. 

"Oh Goku…" she half whispered, half choked, bringing her knees up to her chest and pressing her face into them. "How can I celebrate and pretend like I don't care that you're gone?"

The dress slid off her lap onto the floor as ChiChi curled up on the side of the bed that had once belonged to her husband. It wasn't right for it to be so empty…

She hugged his pillow to her, allowing the tears to come. She lay there often; not even the time lapse of over a year since his death had been enough to help the pain subside even a tiny amount. Each time she saw his side of the bed or his vacant chair at the table… it was like tearing open the wound of his passing all over again. She could change the colour of her clothes and plaster cheery smiles on her lips, but she would never stop mourning.

Never, until the day she died. 

***

Bulma sat alone on the fuzzy yellow rug in the bathroom. One hand held lightly over her stomach, her face bore a complex mixture of emotions from one end of the scale to the other. 

Another child? She hadn't even thought… now the sudden bombardment of thoughts and questions was making her head throb. Tying her hair back messily, she got to her feet before the sink and vigorously brushed her teeth. Even more bitter than the vomit's aftertaste, however, was the ominous thought of what to do next. 

A baby. 

She couldn't decide whether she was more excited or scared. Her maternal instincts were thrilled (though the thought of another Trunks Terror made her cringe slightly) at the tiny life beating inside her, the fragile being while depended on her for its very existence. Yet at the same time…

__

What if Vegeta leaves again?

That was the breaking point - she made a beeline for the nearest phone. 

***

Her tears had just dried when the jangling of the phone interrupted the isolated silence of her bedroom. ChiChi blew her nose once before picking up the receiver, and was immediately greeted by the now familiar anxious, advice-seeking tone in her best friend's voice. As she had done so often, ChiChi pushed her own struggles aside for the moment to listen whole-heartedly to her friend's plight. 

"Bulma, are you okay? What's wrong?"

The details of that morning's events came spilling to her, and ChiChi had the sudden sensation of being a parental figure to Bulma, once again lending her counsel. 

"Well," the raven-haired woman asked bluntly. "Do you want it?"

Bulma sounded somewhat taken aback.

"That's kind of an irrelevant question, isn't it?" she replied defensively. "It's not like the kid made itself. And you know me better than to think I'd ever consider THAT option."

ChiChi sighed patiently.

"Bulma," she said firmly. "If this isn't about whether you should keep the baby or not, then what _is_ it about?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line, broken only by a gusty sigh. ChiChi could almost see her friend resting her forehead on her palm, brows furrowed, probably tearing her fingers through her bangs as she did when confused or bewildered. 

"I don't know!" she finally burst out, and from her tone ChiChi surmised that Bulma was speaking though clenched teeth. "It's not that I don't want the baby, I honestly do! It's just…."

"You're afraid Vegeta will leave again?" 

ChiChi chose to interpret the silence that ensued as an affirmative. 

"Listen to me, Bulma. Vegeta left once for what he thought would be forever, but even he had to come back. I highly doubt his pride could take it if he ran again."

Still silence. Her anxious friend was obviously not fully convinced. 

"And besides," ChiChi continued after a few seconds of empty waiting for a response. "Vegeta's a warrior. He knows better than to make the same mistake twice, even if it's in something he claims he doesn't care about like romance." She smiled at Bulma's resulting small sigh of relief, knowing that her words had been the right ones to say.

"So everything's still okay with you and Gohan coming to the party tonight?"

ChiChi had to laugh inwardly.

__

That's Bulma, alright, she chuckled. _Completely moves on like it never happened. Vegeta's not the only one with a touch of pride._

"Yeah, everything's fine," she answered, stifling her laughter. "We'll be there."

A sudden burst of giggles greeted her through the telephone receiver. 

"Uh, Bulma?" the widow queried. "What… was something I said funny?" 

"No, nothing like that --" the sentence was cut off by another round of mad giggles. ChiChi was about to ask what was going on when the sound of Bulma muffling the mouthpiece and hissing "stop it!" answered for her. The dark-haired woman suppressed another laugh.

"Bulma, is this a bad time?"

More giggles and hisses of "Cut it out, Vegeta! Not now!" came before her friend was finally able to reply. 

"Nonsense!" she declared, sounding slightly angry. ChiChi bit her lip and choked down her mirth as a mental image of Bulma glaring at an insistant Vegeta while covering the phone popped into mind. "This is perfectly -- HEY! Don't you have some more decorations to hang up or something?"

ChiChi raised a slender brow and quietly began counting down seconds. She had just reached _three_ when Bulma said in a very flat, rolling-her-eyes-while-speaking tone;

"On second thought, I'll have to talk to you at the party. See you then!" A faint "There! Are you HAPPY?!" was the last thing ChiChi heard before Bulma hung up. 

Shaking her head and snickering, she placed the phone back in its cradle, ignoring the hole which still throbbed with painful incompleteness in her heart. 

***

The party was in full swing. Having finally given in to frustration, Bulma had hired a professional team to decorate the large party room with just about every ornamental product available. Strings of colored lights were strung around the ceiling perimeter, helium-filled balloons floated above everyone's heads, and the most magnificent display of fine party cuisine was spread in a most appealing design across the table. 

ChiChi sat alone on a comfortable window seat, surveying everyone else through somber eyes. It felt so strange to be celebrating - had everyone forgotten the many graves which once were the lives of their closest friends? She swirled the last drops of bubbly liquid in the base of her slender champagne glass, staring at the floor though not focusing on anything in particular. 

It was good for Gohan to be here at least. He was just a child after all, and not meant to be burdened with things most adults would never encounter. He deserved to get out of the grim atmosphere surrounding and penetrating every inch of their lonely house. 

She, however, had never felt so out of place. And she was with friends! It was ridiculous how she clung to something that was gone, yet she could not bring herself to embrace life again; she had seen far too much death for that. 

Abruptly ChiChi raised her head again. The last thing she wanted was for Gohan to see her this way. She forced herself to try and enjoy the night for his sake, and turned her gaze to the other party guests once more. 

Bulma was trying to drag an unwilling Vegeta to the center of the room to dance (a ridiculously huge sound system had been installed for the purpose of the party alone) and not having much success. Master Roshi was obviously in good health - he had made a more than slightly risqué comment about her change of apparel the moment she had walked in the door, and a mere five minutes later was lying sprawled against a wall with a fresh handprint on his cheek after declaring he wanted to 'feel the expensive fabric' of Bulma's dress. 

Gohan had been somewhat withdrawn throughout the evening, though this was to be expected. Her son always spent these kind of reunions chattering away to a pretending-not-to-be-interested Piccolo; it was only natural that he would not be himself tonight. ChiChi felt a sudden surge of loving empathy towards him; the spikey haired demi-Saiyan's expression was miles away as he absently held a slumbering Trunks in his arms. She wanted to take Gohan in her own arms at that moment; no boy of eleven should have to suffer so much pain.

ChiChi sighed. She felt guilty feeling discontented when Bulma had put so much effort into organizing the party. She plucked at her far-from-black dress, longing for Goku even harder than before. Somehow it just wasn't right to have a famous Capsule Corp party without the goofy Saiyan hovering around the food table, beaming at everyone through a mouthful of fried chicken and mixed fruit. And to think she had always nagged him about his appetite in public…

"So?" Bulma asked, taking a sip from her glass and flicking Vegeta on the nose with her finger. "Are you surviving?" The flame haired warrior snorted.

"I don't know why you insist on these infernal rituals - the boy will be a year older no matter how many presents he gets or how many people crowd into the house. This is all ridiculous."

Bulma smiled and placed a hand on her stomach.

"Looks like you're going to have to get used to this kind of thing. Just think of all the baby showers and second sets of birthdays that'll be here before you know it."

Vegeta's eye twitched briefly. 

"Women." he grunted, as if that explained everything. "Make a brat and you're permanently dreamy-eyed. How sickening."

"Yeah, well, forgive my 'foolish human female whims', O Exulted One. Could you deign to at least pretend you're enjoying yourself?"

Vegeta glared darkly over her shoulder.

"Not when the lecher and that pig are eyeing your backside."

Bulma whipped around, face a mask of fury, hands planted firmly on her hips. 

"Oolong! I'm gonna be eating bacon for breakfast if you don't keep your eyeballs in their sockets!" She rounded on Roshi.

"And YOU!" she assumed her most intimidating stance. "Just keep looking if you want Vegeta to pluck every hair out of your beard one by one! The next nosebleed you get will be because it's broken, buster!"

Smiling graciously at the chorus of laughter from the rest of the party guests, she turned back to Vegeta.

"If you would just let me blast those two into ashes you wouldn't have this problem."

Bulma rolled her eyes and reached up to bring his face close to her own.

"Take it easy, Grumpy. I guess I'm just too gorgeous for any man to resist!" 

Vegeta pulled roughly away, his gaze flicking to all the other inhabitants of the room. 

"Oh relax!" Bulma chided, slipping her arms around his tensed neck, tracing her fingers over the lines of flexed muscle. "Nobody's looking."

***

ChiChi felt something painful twist in her chest when Bulma kissed him. She found herself unable to look away from them, though with each passing second her agony grew.

She knew thousands of people were feeling the same as she at that very moment. She knew many more were far less fortunate than she. Death had been a stranger to no-one since the _jinzouningen's_ arrival, but she bled as if it were only she who suffered. She felt so selfish…

"Kami, Goku, do you miss me as much as I miss you?"

She watched Vegeta encircle Bulma in his arms in the shadows, and suddenly she despised her pale dress, her fixed hair and cheery smile. She hated that she had almost come out of mourning, almost betrayed the one she had loved - still loved - so much. She hated everything in this world that had so quickly turned its back on her.

And so the party went on. Amidst the balloons and bright lights, the festive music and laughter, one woman sank quietly into a corner and cried.


End file.
